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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25367047">Disarmed</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecirclesquare/pseuds/thecirclesquare'>thecirclesquare</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Warrior Nun (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:21:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,637</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25367047</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecirclesquare/pseuds/thecirclesquare</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Picking up immediately after the Season 1 finale. After Sister Lilith sacrifices herself to the cause, Sister Beatrice is tasked with hiding the Halo (and Ava) until Adriel has been neutralized.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sister Beatrice/Ava Silva</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>116</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>668</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I have seen death and I have seen miracles. Today, I pray it’s the latter.</p><p>Adriel raises his arms and a gust of wind blows in from nowhere.</p><p>“Wraith demons,” Ava says. Within moments the people in the courtyard lurch toward us, their eyes black with the sickness.</p><p>“In this life or the next,” we say.</p><p>Shotgun Mary storms forward, shotguns out. Everything after that is a blur. We fight. Of course, we fight.</p><p>I take out one man with a knife to the eye. I bring another down with a snap of the neck. Shotgun Mary blows herself out of the center of a crowd, knocks them down left and right, and when she’s out of ammo, she beats her way through with the butt ends of her shotguns.</p><p>Sister Camila gets three, then four with her crossbow, before I see her swallowed up, surrounded by the possessed. I unleash my shuriken, sending them straight into the backs of the ghouls. They turn and head toward me, their eyes both blank and ravenous. I slip to one side, grabbing a woman’s arm and using her own momentum against her. She staggers past me, crashes into another. I don’t finish them off, but head straight for Camila.</p><p>I lift her up and we stand, back-to-back in a two-person defense against an overwhelming crowd of Adriel’s ghouls. I am tired. My arms already ache with exhaustion. I feel Camila’s back brush against mine, her breath heaving.</p><p>“How are we going to get out of this, Bea?” she says.</p><p>“Stay focused,” I say. “Don’t give up.”</p><p>But we are surrounded on all sides. There are just too many of them. I hear Ava scream somewhere on the far side of the courtyard, but I can’t see her. There is a flash of blinding light and a shockwave that sends us all flying. I hit a stone pillar and fall onto my side. My arm burns with pain, but I manage to stagger back onto my feet.</p><p>Dust falls from the ceiling like snow. It’s everywhere. In my eyes. In my mouth. I cover my face with my good hand and head toward the epicenter of the explosion. Toward Ava.</p><p>All around me, the possessed seemed to have been knocked to their senses. They are scattered on the ground, looking up at me in bewilderment. They want to ask questions but there aren’t any words.</p><p>“It’s okay,” I say. “You’re okay.”</p><p>But I don’t stop to assist them. I must find Ava.</p><p>Through the dust I see Adriel. He has her by the throat, lifting her, her body limp. She doesn’t resist. The cruciform sword is nowhere to be found.</p><p>“Give it to me!” he shouts.</p><p>“Go fuck yourself,” she manages to grunt out.</p><p>I run toward them, pulling my last knife from my boot as I go. I aim for his jugular and let the knife fly, but just before it hits its target, it disappears into nothing.</p><p>The space between me and them wavers as a portal opens—no, not just one portal, but countless portals that flash into existence all around us. Adriel drops Ava to the ground. She falls onto her back.</p><p>Tarask after Tarask steps into the courtyard, forming a circle around them. Adriel stumbles backward, his eyes wide with fear. Then he turns, darts through an opening between two Tarasks, and runs. They give chase immediately, their enormous forms blasting through the archways as they go, unleashing more dust into the air.</p><p>One of the Tarasks hangs back, circling Ava. She winces like someone who is about to rip off a bandaid, not like someone who is staring down death. She closes her eyes and starts whispering to herself. The demon towers over her. Raises its claw. Lets out a bone-chilling cry.</p><p>“Wait!” Lilith calls out from behind me.</p><p>Inconceivably, the Tarask turns toward her. I turn, too.</p><p>“Take the thief and his armor, not the girl,” Lilith says as she lifts the glowing cruciform sword. “That was the deal.”</p><p>The Tarask backs off of Ava as Lilith walks past me and raises the sword up to it with both hands. She has long black talons where her fingernails should be.</p><p>Slowly, the Tarask takes the sword in its claws, then bows its head to Lilith. Just as inconceivably, she bows in return. I lock eyes with Ava. Her mouth hangs open. She looks as speechless as I feel.</p><p>
  <em>What the fuck?</em>
</p><p>Lilith turns back to me as a portal shimmers open beside her. She shouts over the pulsing fluctuations. “Get the Halo-Bearer away from here. Hide her from Adriel!”</p><p>“But how can I protect her without the sword?” I shout back.</p><p>Lilith’s white hair dances in the wind. “Just hide her. I will try my best to protect her from the other side.”</p><p>“Lilith! Wait!”</p><p>I lunge forward, reaching, but she is gone before I can grab her. The Tarask lets out another eerie cry that shakes the very foundation beneath us, then barrels into the portal after her. It closes in a flash of light.</p><p>I don’t have time to make sense of what I just saw. I run to Ava’s side. I grab her in my arms.</p><p>“You have to get up. Now.”</p><p>She nods her head and wraps her weak arms around my neck. I try to lift her, but she is mostly dead weight. We both stumble back onto the ground.</p><p>I get back up. I grab her from behind, shove my hands into her armpits and start to drag her away from the scene, but we don’t get far. I’m too exhausted. I fall again, with all of Ava’s weight on top of me.</p><p>Just then Shotgun Mary appears out of the haze and kneels beside us.</p><p>“I got you,” she says, and she lifts Ava’s legs.</p><p>“Me too,” I hear Sister Camila say beside me. “I’ll cover you.”</p><p>Somehow, on sheer adrenalin alone, Mary and I lift Ava off the ground and drag her out of the courtyard. Camila leads us through the maze of the Vatican. People scatter in every direction around us, but somehow she gets us back to the van.</p><p>By that time, Ava can almost stand. She leans heavily against my side as Camila opens the van doors.</p><p>“Thank you,” Ava whispers so quietly I don’t think anyone else can hear.</p><p>I don’t look at her. I don’t respond. I’m too focused on getting her out of there. I lean her as gently as possible into the back of the van, then jump in beside her. Camila climbs in last and closes the doors behind us. Mary is already in the driver’s seat, already foot on the gas, already peeling out, tires screeching on the road.  </p><p>I wipe the dust from Ava’s face as my eyes adjust to dim light in the van. With great effort, she places her hand over mine.</p><p>“We have to stop meeting like this,” she says and smiles.</p><p><em>Today,</em> I think, <em>I have seen miracles.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“We have to stop meeting like this,” I say and I regret it immediately.</p><p>Beatrice kneels over me but she doesn’t smile. She glances only briefly into my eyes, then examines the rest of me, her fingers running quickly over my cheeks, across my brow, down my neck, and over my shoulders. Her hands feel so warm and alive, and the mere fact that I can feel their warmth and aliveness on my own skin means that <em>I </em>am alive, and the realization is so big that I feel like crying. I need her to smile.</p><p>“What? Too soon for jokes?”</p><p>“Ava, be serious.” Her voice is calm but stern.</p><p>“Okay.” My voice catches. I can’t stop it. I have no energy to hold back this wave of emotion inside me. “Sorry.”</p><p>When she hears my voice she turns back and lays a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay. We all deal with stress in different ways—you cope by telling bad jokes.”</p><p>Finally, she smiles, but only for an instant and then her brows furrow in concentration again. She prods gently at my waist and then my legs.</p><p>“Were you hit with divinium?” she asks.</p><p>“No. I don’t think so.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>“What the hell happened back there?” Shotgun Mary says from the front. “I mean, besides getting our asses handed to us by a thousand-year-old hipster with a bad haircut.”</p><p>“I don’t know exactly,” I say. “But Adriel isn’t who we think he is.”</p><p>“No shit?”</p><p>“What did he say to you?” Beatrice says. “In the tomb.”</p><p>“He said he was trapped there by Areala, and that she betrayed him and stole his halo.”</p><p>“That would explain why he’s so upset,” Camila says.</p><p>“You call that upset?” Mary says. “I call it homicidal.”</p><p>Beatrice interrupts. “Back at the Vatican, you called him a devil. What made you say that?”</p><p>“I saw it with my own eyes.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“Well, he wouldn’t shut up about the divinium, saying he is connected to it somehow. He said he can sense things through the relics of divinium—that he has been watching all these years.”</p><p>“Of course!” Shotgun Mary slams her hand against the steering wheel. We all jump.</p><p>Beatrice looks up at her in the rearview. “Am I missing something?”</p><p>“Didn’t any of you notice Father Vincent’s glowing tattoos? He’s been serving Adriel all along. That’s who Shannon was scared of. Not Cardinal Duretti.”</p><p>“Why would he do that?” Camila says.</p><p>“You don’t know him,” Mary says. “Not the real him. None of us do.”</p><p>“So the divinium was like Adriel’s supernatural wiretap?” Camila says.</p><p>“Yeah,” I say. “Something like that.”</p><p>“And Vincent delivered you to Adriel like a good little minion,” Mary says.</p><p>“Yeah.” My stomach is in knots. “I guess so.”</p><p>“I feel icky,” Camila says.</p><p>Beatrice sighs and turns back to me. “You still haven’t said why you think he’s a devil.”</p><p>“Right. Well, at some point he tried to grab the halo from my back, and when he touched me I saw it all—like some sort of messed up Vulcan mind meld—like I was connected to him somehow. No, like I was connected to Areala. I could see her memories, feel her feelings. She knew he wasn’t an angel, and she knew she shouldn’t trust him.”</p><p>“So she plotted to have him locked up for all time, guarded by the skeletal remains of Tarasks, which are somehow made of divinium,” Beatrice says.</p><p>“But that still doesn’t make sense,” Camila says. “If Adriel is evil, does that mean the Tarasks are good? How could that be? You heard what they did to that poor Padre back at the morgue?”</p><p>“Maybe there’s no such thing as good and evil after all,” Mary says. “Maybe Areala just got caught in the middle of a war which humans should never have been involved in to begin with.”</p><p>“And now Lilith is caught in it,” I say. “And all of you.”</p><p>“And you,” Camila says.</p><p>“This information doesn’t change anything,” Beatrice says. “Originally, we thought the Tarasks were after the halo, and now we know it’s Adriel that we should be concerned about—at least, for now. You still have the halo in your back, and without it you will most likely not survive. Therefore, we should proceed with Sister Lilith’s plan. We should hide and wait for more information.”</p><p>“Where are we supposed to hide?” Camila says. “Father Vincent knows all of our usual places and contacts, and the Arq-tech labs are loaded with divinium.”</p><p>“I’ve got a few ideas,” Mary says. “But it’s gonna be a long drive, so you might as well get comfortable.”</p><p>“You’re right,” Beatrice says. “We should all rest.”</p><p>“Why don’t you go up front, Bea?” Camila says.</p><p>Beatrice hesitates.</p><p><em>Please don’t go</em>, I think.</p><p>She clears her throat and says, “No, I’m fine. You go ahead.”</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>“Absolutely.”</p><p>Camila shrugs, then makes her way past us, crawling carefully over me and then into the front seat. Beatrice leans away to let her pass, and it is only when she leans back that I realize I have grabbed her by the wrist, I have held her in place.</p><p>She looks down at our hands, and then stutters. “Do you mind—it’s just—my wrist—?”</p><p>“Yeah, sorry.” I’m mortified by how needy I am.</p><p>She winces when I let her go and brings her hand slowly to her chest, cradling it gently.</p><p>“You’re hurt?” I say.</p><p>“It’s just a sprain.” She rotates her wrist slowly and winces again. “At least, I hope so. I doubt we’ll be stopping for medical care anytime soon.”</p><p>“Not a chance,” Mary says.</p><p>I hate how powerless I feel in the face of her pain. “I wish I could somehow share my superpowers. I’d fix that wrist up in no time.”</p><p>She rummages around in the supplies near the back of the van, pulls out a first aid kit, and opens it one-handed.</p><p>She pulls out a little paper package. “I might not have a halo, but I do have some pretty serious painkillers.” She hands me the little package. “Do you mind?”</p><p>I tear it open and hand it back.</p><p>“Here,” Camila says, leaning back from the front seat, a thermos in her hand. “To wash it down.”</p><p>“Let me guess,” Beatrice says as she takes the thermos, “sweet nettle tea?”</p><p>“Only the sweetest,” Camila says.</p><p>They both laugh and I have to admit that I’m annoyed. It isn’t even a very funny joke. But I laugh, too, just to fit in.</p><p>Beatrice hands the thermos back and settles into a seated position, her back pressed firmly against the wall, her legs crisscrossed between us. Her knees are so close to me, her skirt falls over onto my arm. I don’t know if she knows, but I like the feeling, like I’m not alone, not separate but connected, even if it’s just in this one small spot.</p><p>She turns her attention to the world outside the van window, the world that I can’t see. At that moment, the world to me, is only a hypnotic pattern of light and shadows that flash across her face. My eyelids grow heavy. I fight sleep because I’m scared of what I will see in my dreams. I close my eyes for long stretches, but I hear Adriel’s voice, and I can’t shake him from my mind. I see Lilith, her white hair billowing in the turbulence of the portal. My eyes shoot open.</p><p>Open and closed. Open and closed. It goes on like that for hours until finally I open my eyes to see Beatrice’s back, her shoulder blades only inches from my face, her body curled carefully beside me but not touching. I can tell by the slow in-and-out of her breath that she is asleep.</p><p>Slowly. Gently. I reach a hand out. Slowly. Gently. I touch the back of her vest with the tip of my finger, then with the back of my hand. She doesn’t move. Which is good. I don’t really want her to know, which is a bit creepy, I know.</p><p>But it’s the only thing I can think of to do to feel safe.</p><p>And I do. Feel Safe. I do fall asleep. I do stay asleep for the rest of the night, I think, but the next time I open my eyes, the sky is still dark.</p><p>Beatrice sits beside me, squinting out the window, her hair a messy braid. With a hoarse voice, she says, “Are we going where I think we’re going?”</p><p>“Yep,” Mary says. “Surprised?”</p><p>“Yes, actually. Though I suppose I shouldn’t be.”</p><p>“I’m gonna leave you off at the next intersection, so I can get back on the road.”</p><p>“Aren’t you coming with us?” Camila says.</p><p>“I’ve got other plans.” Mary glances at Beatrice in the rearview mirror. “If I leave you at the corner, do you know the way?”</p><p>Beatrice nods and rubs at her eyes. “Yes. Of course.”</p><p>“Good. Then gather your shit and get out of here.”</p><p>Beatrice gathers what weapons are left. Camila gathers her thermos and the first aid kit and shoves them into her bag. And me? I follow them out of the van and into the dark street, still half asleep. And well, I guess I gather nothing.</p><p>I have no idea where I am, but the air is damp and cold against my cheeks. In the distance, I think I see steep mountains that under other circumstances I would think were awesome, but at the moment are simply there.</p><p>Mary rolls down the passenger side window and calls Beatrice over.</p><p>“I’ll contact you when I get to where I’m going,” she says. “In the meantime, don’t go nowhere and don’t talk to no one. Do you understand me?”</p><p>Both Beatrice and Camila nod.</p><p>“And you’ll contact us when you get to…wherever you’re going?” Beatrice says.</p><p>“I will,” Mary nods then looks right at me. “Hey, Badass! Don’t do anything stupid until I get back, okay?”</p><p>“I won’t,” I say.</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>“In this life or the next,” Beatrice says.</p><p>“Get out of here before the sun comes up. You don’t want to attract attention.”</p><p>“Of course.” Beatrice slaps the car door in salutation and immediately heads up the street. She pauses and looks back at Camila and me. “Come on, we have a long way to go and we need to beat the light.”</p><p>We jog after her but it’s not easy. The streets are steep and narrow, leading ever further up the mountainside. I can tell by the cutesy cafes, boutique shops, and rustic inns that we are in some sort of resort town.</p><p>“Oh my god, are we in the Alps?” I say out loud.</p><p>Beatrice pauses at the corner and smiles. “That was rather astute of you.”</p><p>“Thanks.” <em>I guess?</em></p><p>“It’s this way. Just a little bit further.”</p><p>She leads us down a side street that winds through a ritzy looking residential neighborhood. I expect to see a cathedral or a convent around each bend, but it’s just mansion after mansion, each behind its own elaborately decorated gate.</p><p>She slows as she approaches one such gate, holds her hand up in a fist, which based on Camila’s reaction, I assume means to stop moving and shut the hell up. So I stop moving and shut the hell up.</p><p>Beatrice turns back to Camila. “Sister Camila, what’s your assessment of the property?”</p><p>Camila pulls the binoculars from her bag and peeks through the gate. “I see at least three cameras. It’s probably an entire smart home security package—cameras, motion detectors, etc.”</p><p>Beatrice nods her understanding. “I suspected as much. You two stay here, I’m going to circle around to the back of the property and see if I can find any blind spots.”</p><p>“I’ll check local wifi networks,” Camila said. “If it’s a smart home system, I may be able to hack in.”</p><p>“What can I do?” I say.</p><p>“You can…be the lookout,” Beatrice says. “Make sure no one is coming.”</p><p>“The lookout?”</p><p>“It’s a very important job,” Camila says.</p><p>I sigh. “Fine.”</p><p>Beatrice smacks my arm, then slips away into the shadows of the street, disappearing in the alley between this mansion and the one next door.</p><p>Camila pulls a tablet out of her bag, kneels down, and starts typing furiously.</p><p>
  <em>How much shit does she have in there?</em>
</p><p>I know they gave me the lookout job because it is a non-job, but I try my best to do it anyway. I look up and down the street, but the path winds so sharply that I can’t see more than fifty meters each way. I think I hear footsteps coming from downhill, but they seem to be moving away from us not toward us. The sky is a deep shade of gray, and I know the sun will be up soon. I hug myself and turn back to Camila.</p><p>“Any luck?” I say.</p><p>She scowls, tapping her index finger in rather aggressive motions against the screen. “No. Whoever’s house this is, they have a pretty tight security protocol. Why are rich people so paranoid?”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t know,” I say, “probably because this is only one of their many houses and they only come here two weeks out of the year and the rest of the time it’s empty and they’re worried that maybe a merry band twenty-something traveling opportunists might break in and use the place while they’re away and then cover it all up by using a cleaning service to bleach the place before they leave?”</p><p>Camila stares. “That’s oddly specific.”</p><p>“I read a thread about it once.”</p><p>
  <em>Smooth, Ava. </em>
</p><p>“Well, I don’t think any band of twenty-somethings would be able to break into this place, merry or otherwise. It’s basically a citadel.”</p><p>Just then the gate lurches into motion, sending Camila and I jumping backward. Camila looks down at the tablet, then lifts it so I can see. “It’s been disarmed.”</p><p>We both scurry into the yard before the gate is fully open and slip along the shadows toward the front door. Just as we reach the front steps a light turns on in the window. Beatrice opens the door and waves us in. It’s only when the door is closed behind her that she pulls her covering from her head and sighs. “Finally. I’m starving.”</p><p>“How did you disarm it?” Camila says.</p><p>“From the inside. There’s a blind spot in the cameras in the backyard, near one of the second-story bedrooms. I broke a window and climbed in.”</p><p>“But wouldn’t breaking a window trigger an alarm?” I say.</p><p>“It was a very small window in a very big closet. I guess they forgot about it when they put the new alarm system in.” She heads down the long hallway toward what I assume is the kitchen. “Are you hungry? There must be something here we can eat.”</p><p>“But, wait…” I follow behind her. “How could you possibly know that?”</p><p>And that’s when I saw it, the hallway is lined with picture frames, and within each frame there is a happy mother and a happy father and a happy—</p><p>
  <em>Beatrice?</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Wait,” Ava says behind me, “this is you! This is your house!”</p><p>“My parents’ house,” I clarify when we reach the kitchen. “Well, one of their vacation homes.”</p><p>Ava nudges Camila with her elbow. “See. I told you.”</p><p>“It’s really nice,” Camila says.</p><p>“Nice? It’s a flipping mansion.” Ava spins around slowly, taking it all in. “A definite upgrade from Cat’s Cradle, am I right?”</p><p>“Appearances aren’t everything,” I say. Her enthusiasm grates my nerves for some reason.</p><p><em>Strange,</em> I think, <em>only hours ago the sound of her whispered thank you had brought me such relief.</em></p><p>“Sure,” she continues, “but, I bet you have one of those fancy showers—no, probably three or four of those fancy showers.”</p><p>“Define fancy,” Camila says.</p><p>“Ava,” I interrupt, “it’s not polite to go on about such superficial things.”</p><p>Camila and Ava exchange looks, and Ava twists her mouth up and mutters under her breath, “Spoken like a true rich person.”</p><p>“Look,” I say, “I don’t really have the energy to explain social graces to you, okay? At least not until I’ve had something to eat and a hot shower.”</p><p>“Okaaaaay.” Ava turns back toward the picture frames on the wall. The sight of her back sends pangs of regret through me.</p><p>Camila opens a cupboard and says, “Our options are noodles—the Italian kind or the Korean kind.”</p><p>“I’ve had enough of Italy for this lifetime, thanks,” Ava mutters to herself.</p><p>“Korean it is,” Camila says. She sets two packages of noodles on the counter and starts opening cabinets. “A little help, Bea?”</p><p>I direct her to the cabinet over the stove, and pull down a pot for her. On the other side of the room, Ava leans forward, her face so close to my family photos that I squirm a bit. I never wanted either of them to see any of this.</p><p>“Why don’t you go shower?” Camila says. “I can take care of this for now.”</p><p>I thank her and head toward the stairs, but I pause at the hallway. I don’t know if Ava is intentionally ignoring me or if she is really that interested in my photos, because she doesn’t turn when I approach. Instead, she moves along the wall, smiling to herself as she goes. At the end of the line, she reaches a finger out and touches the corner of a small frame. I don’t remember taking the photo. I was too young, just a toddler with an enormous head and jet black hair.</p><p>“Baby Beatrice is adorable!” She laughs out loud as she turns, then jumps back. “Jesus! How long have you been there?”</p><p>“I didn’t mean to startle you,” I say.</p><p>“Then what do you want?” As soon as she says it her cheeks go red.</p><p><em>It looks like we are both a bit irritable,</em> I think.</p><p>“Well,” I hesitate, “I thought I could show you to one of the <em>fancy</em> showers.”</p><p>She smiles, “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to brag?”</p><p>Truce accepted.</p><p>I lead her up the stairs but I’m so exhausted that I can’t think of a single thing to say to fill the silence. Thankfully, she speaks first.</p><p>“How’s your wrist?”</p><p>“Okay, I think.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“No,” I say. “But the pain is nebulous enough that I can ignore it for the time being.”</p><p>She nods her head and repeats quietly to herself, “Nebulous. That’s a good word.”</p><p>“How about you?” I say.</p><p>“Me? I’m totally fine,” she says. “Nothing nebulous here. Which you probably hate me for.”</p><p>“Ava, I could never hate you.” I open the first door on the landing and gesture for her to enter. “This is our main guest room.”</p><p>Light from the rising sun filters in through the large windows, filling the room with a golden-gray light that casts long, comfortable shadows onto the hardwood floor. Ava does not hesitate to enter, leaving me at the door. She is instantly drawn toward the enormous king-size bed in the center of the room, and I can see her almost bounce with excitement. But when she looks back at me, she purses her lips into a very serious straight line.</p><p>“It’s okay,” I say. “Whatever it is you were about to say, just say it.”</p><p>“This bed is amazing!” She lets herself fall onto the bed, her feet dangling over the side. Then she sits up suddenly and looks around. “This entire room is amazing. I mean, look at that window seat. I’ve always wanted a window seat. And look at that view!”</p><p>She stands up from the bed and wanders to the bay of windows. Without thinking I follow her. Outside the peaks of the Alps are glowing in the early morning light, which makes them seem almost more real than they are, more solid, as if every other time I’d ever looked at them they were only ever an idea. But as I stare, they seem to pop more fully into existence. I’m not quite sure how that is impossible. I must be tired.</p><p>Ava’s face glows, too. And when she turns to look at me, the light catches her eyes, and for a moment it’s like she is looking at me through golden lashes. I’m mesmerized.</p><p>“It’s beautiful,” she says.</p><p><em>It is,</em> I think.</p><p>She turns back and I’m not sure what I just felt, except for a vague sense that it is her presence here, in this room, that lends some weight to it and to the street below and to the mountains in the distance. Because she is here, things feel…different. More alive.</p><p><em>Perhaps it is an effect of the halo’s energy,</em> I think.</p><p>At the moment, I am unwilling to believe there is any other explanation.</p><p>“So, you grew up here?” she asks.</p><p>“No. My parents bought this house when I was a teenager. I only lived here for a few months before I joined the Order.”</p><p>“Still,” she says. “It’s like living in paradise.”</p><p>I want to say that it wasn’t like that for me, but I want to say it in a way that makes sense.</p><p>“Ava,” I say, “I’m sorry about earlier.”</p><p>“It’s okay.”</p><p>“No, it’s not. I was rude to you.”</p><p>“Don’t worry, I won’t tell Shotgun Mary.”</p><p>“It’s just that I was not expecting to come here. Logically, I know it is the safest place for you right now, but just so you know, it’s not the safest place for me—emotionally.”</p><p>She nods, and waits patiently for me to continue.</p><p>“My parents weren’t kind to me here. And I suppose that’s all there is to say about it.”</p><p>“I get it,” she says. “This place is like your St. Michael’s.”</p><p>“St. Michael’s?” But before I even finish the question I remember. <em>The orphanage. </em>“Right. So you can relate?”</p><p>“Hey,” she says, “whatever happened here before, it’s over. And besides, things are different now. Your parents aren’t even here.”</p><p>"No. Thankfully, it’s not ski season.”</p><p>“And even if it was, you’re not alone anymore. Have you seen Camila with that crossbow?”</p><p>There it is again, that light that strikes her lashes and her cheek and her hair, that light that transforms her right in front of my eyes. And there is the heaviness in the air, like we are standing in something not quite liquid, but not quite air. She is still Ava, and I am still Beatrice, but there is something else.  </p><p><em>I have felt this before</em>, I think. <em>Back at Arq-Tech.</em></p><p>And just as I did on that day, I try to ignore it, because the idea is impossible. I clear my throat and look away. I step toward the bathroom. “So, the shower is in there. And there are clean towels in the linen closet. I will find you some clean clothes to change into.”</p><p>“Aren’t you going to show me how to use it?”</p><p>My cheeks flush immediately. “What?”</p><p>“The shower. Does it have any fancy controls I should know about?”</p><p>“Oh.” I’m laughing nervously and I can’t stop. “No, I don’t think so!” I’m talking very loudly. “It’s actually not very fancy at all. It’s just…big. You could fit, like, ten people in there.”</p><p>“Okay.” She shrugs. “Cool.”</p><p>I back quickly away. “I’ll bring you some clothes.” I wave as I step out of the room. I wave as I close the door. I wave and I don’t know why. I stand in the hallway, utterly confused.</p><p>
  <em>What the heck just happened?</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>What the hell just happened?</em>
</p><p>I’m pretty sure Beatrice just blushed, but I don’t know exactly why. Maybe nuns are weird about showers? Maybe it’s a modesty thing? Maybe Beatrice is still weird about this house? Could that also be a modesty thing? I don’t really know and I don’t think I will ask. </p><p><em>She was right about what she said before,</em> I think. <em>I really don’t know about social graces. </em></p><p>I’m too tired to think any more about it so I head into the bathroom. </p><p>“Holy shit,” I say out loud. “She wasn’t fucking kidding!”</p><p>The shower is huge and gorgeous and incredibly inviting. I turn on the hot water to let it heat up, just like JC had taught me to do.</p><p>
  <em>Whoa, that’s weird. Haven’t thought about him in a while.</em>
</p><p>Next I strip off my clothes, and the chainmail clinks heavily against the tile floor. I step into the shower, too impatient to wait for it to heat up properly. I need to get this dirt off of me. I need to feel clean. I need to—</p><p>
  <em>Yes. This is heaven. </em>
</p><p>The water temperature is perfect. I wash my hair and scrub my body, luxuriating in the scent of the soap. It’s probably the nicest, most expensive soap to ever touch my skin. And when all the dirt and grit and old blood is washed away I just stand there beneath the stream and let the water wash over me, turning this way and that to make sure every part of me is warmed. Without thinking, I’m suddenly thinking of JC again.</p><p>
  <em>God, that feels like a long time ago. Mary says I didn’t love him. Did I love him? It seemed like love at the time. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>God, Ava, who are you? An old-timey widow remembering the husband she lost at war? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>To be fair, it sort of does feel like I’ve been through war. Like I am still in the middle of a war. The movies just don’t prepare you for it. Being in the middle of a war feels strangely like being a guest in your new best friend’s house and saying all the wrong things and then wishing you hadn’t because you can’t stand to lose another friend right now. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You haven’t lost Beatrice. She’s tired. You’re tired. It’s not you. It’s everyone but you. Remember when she said that? She meant it. I’m sure she meant it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>She just doesn’t like it here. But she definitely likes you. Right?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I mean, you thought JC was flirting with you, and it turned out he was. You were spot on with that one. Boy was I ever—don’t get sidetracked. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>My point is, you’re better at reading people than you think, so just relax. Beatrice is still your friend. Friends bicker sometimes. That’s literally the plot of every episode of ‘Friends,’ so…</em>
</p><p>Just then I hear some movement in the other room. I turn off the water and listen. I hear soft footsteps on the floorboards followed by the sound of the bedroom door closing. </p><p>“Hello?” I say.</p><p>No answer. </p><p>I step out of the shower, pull on a towel, and peek out of the bathroom. There is no one in the bedroom beyond, but there is a neatly folded pile of clothes on the corner of the bed. I walk over to the clothes. There is a pair of black sweats and a matching black hoodie. They look brand new. Beside them sits an unopened pack of socks and another pack of underwear. </p><p>“Very large closet, my ass? She must have a freaking department store in there?”</p><p>I pull on the clothes and regard myself in the mirror. I don’t think these are Beatrice’s clothes, but they look like they could be. They are practical, comfortable, warm—much like Beatrice, herself. I pull the socks on last and shuffle out of the room. </p><p>Downstairs, Camila has set the table with three bowls, three glasses of water, and matching chopsticks. In the center of the table is the pot of Korean noodles. She stirs it slowly and looks up. </p><p>“Where’s Beatrice?” I say.</p><p>“She hasn’t come down yet. But if she isn’t here in sixty seconds, we’re starting without her. Come sit.” She pats one of the chairs beside her. </p><p>We both sit down, and I have just picked up the chopsticks, unsure that I would know how to use them, when we hear Beatrice coming down the stairs. </p><p>“What’s wrong?” she says.</p><p>“Huh?” I look up and am taken aback. Beatrice is wearing a white t-shirt, jeans, and a shabby-chic cardigan that makes her look like a hot Mr. Rogers. Her hair falls in damp strands that sweep across her forehead and frame her face. I suddenly forget what I was just thinking. </p><p>
  <em>Beatrice is a babe!</em>
</p><p>“Is something wrong?”</p><p>“No, uh—it’s the chopsticks. I’ve never used them before. I’m not sure I know how.”</p><p>“Oh, well that’s an easy problem to fix.” She walks back toward the kitchen and Camila audibly sighs. “You may eat, Sister Camila. Don’t wait for me.”</p><p>Camila whispers her blessings quickly to herself but never takes her eyes off the pot at the center of the table. I can’t take my eyes off of Beatrice. </p><p>I can’t help it. I wasn’t expecting her to be so—</p><p>
  <em>Pretty. </em>
</p><p>“What?” she says as she hands me a fork. </p><p>
  <em>Oh, shit. Did I just say that out loud?</em>
</p><p>“These noodles,” I say. “They’re so pretty.”</p><p>“The most beautiful noodles I’ve ever seen!” Camila adds as she ladles a big scoop into her bowl.</p><p>I laugh and nod. “Definitely.”</p><p>Beatrice sits down across from me. “I suppose this probably will be the best bowl of ramyeon I’ll ever have, but I don’t know if I’d call it beautiful.”</p><p><em>Jesus,</em> I think, <em>that could have been embarrassing. </em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first day is a blur. We are all sleep-deprived and on edge. We stay together in the library because it feels safer that way. Ava and I stand over Camila at the computer desk. Thankfully, I have remembered my parents’ login info.</p><p>“We need more information,” I say. “We need access to the Cat’s Cradle library. Can you get us in?”</p><p>“Easy, but I’ll have to use a VPN to mask our IP address. Give me a minute.” She cracks her knuckles and gets busy on the keyboard.</p><p>“Wait,” Ava says. “What do you mean the Cat’s Cradle library?”</p><p>“Sister Camila took it upon herself to start digitizing the texts the OCS has collected over the centuries.”</p><p>“And Sister Shannon’s book?” Ava asks.</p><p>I can’t help but sigh. “No.”</p><p>“I’m in,” Camila says.</p><p>“Can anyone trace our location?”</p><p>“No, it says we’re in the United States.”</p><p>“Good.” I pull an old hard drive out of the desk drawer and hand it to her. “Download everything, then wipe it clean.”</p><p>Camila takes the drive but hesitates.</p><p>“It’s okay.” I place a hand on her shoulder. “We can’t run the risk of anyone else accessing this information.”</p><p>“Like who? Father Vincent?”</p><p>“Maybe,” I say. “Or Jillian Salvius. Arq-tech. Even Sister Lilith or Mary could be forced against their will to give up access to the server. Right now, we just can’t be sure.”</p><p>“Where do you think he is anyway?” Ava says suddenly. “Father Vincent, I mean.”</p><p>“Probably hiding like us,” I say.</p><p>“And what about Adriel?” Camila says. “Do you think he got away, or do you think the Tarasks got him?”</p><p>“They didn’t,” Ava says, hugging herself. “If they did, I would feel it.”</p><p>“How can you be certain?” I say.</p><p>“Because, I’m connected to him somehow. I can’t explain it, but I know he’s still out there.”</p><p>“Do you know where?”</p><p>She shakes her head and closes her eyes. “No.”</p><p>Without thinking I place a hand on her shoulder. It is only when she places her hand over mine that I feel a rush of warmth shoot through me. She opens her eyes and I’m struck. I want to comfort her, but I also don’t think I can bear the weight of her attention much longer.  </p><p>“You’re safe for now,” I say.</p><p>“I know.” She squeezes my hand before slipping away to one of the bookshelves. She makes a show of browsing titles, but I can tell her mind is elsewhere. I feel the absence of her hand on mine. It’s cold like an unexpected draft. I tuck my hand in the pocket of my sweater.</p><p>“Bea?” Camila says.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Eighty-three texts? What do you want me to do with them?”</p><p>“We will have to sort through them, see if we can find any connections between Adriel and the demons.”</p><p>“Not just any of the demons,” Ava says. “The wraith demons are linked to Adriel, but the Tarasks are his enemy—no, that’s not quite right. They’re more like his prison guards.”</p><p>“Do you think Adriel is an escaped convict of some sort?” I ask.</p><p>“Convict? I don’t know. Thief? Most definitely. He stole the halo for sure.”</p><p>“And the divinium,” Camila added.</p><p>“Ava,” I say.</p><p>I’m not ready for the speed and attentiveness with which she turns toward me. I’m struck again. She takes a step closer.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Back in the necropolis,” I start, “you said that there were Tarask skeletons surrounding Adriel’s tomb—”</p><p>“Not tomb,” she interjects, “prison cell.”</p><p>“Okay—prison cell. And you said they were made of divinium.”</p><p>“That’s right.”</p><p>“So if Tarasks are made of divinium—are, in fact, the original biological source of divinium—then Adriel’s armor is made of—what?”</p><p>“The bones of a Tarask?” Camila says. “That’s grotesque.”</p><p>“But true,” Ava says. “I saw it in my vision.”</p><p>“What, exactly, did you see?” I say. “Can you describe it?”</p><p>“I saw Adriel at the village blacksmith, melting down the metal. He pulled a curtain aside to show me the severed head of the Tarask in the dirt. The blacksmith had already forged the shield and a few other pieces with the rest of the body.”</p><p>“What did the head look like to you?”</p><p>“It looked large and heavy and metal and black.”</p><p>“Black?”</p><p>“Yes, the metal was a dark silver-black color.”</p><p>“And the eyes?”</p><p>“The eyes were black, too, I guess. They definitely weren’t the typical fire and brimstone red.”</p><p>“So they were no longer illuminated?”</p><p>“Nope.”</p><p>“Interesting. And was there any blood?”</p><p>“No, not that I can recall.”</p><p>“So, there was a large metal head on the ground, most likely decapitated by Adriel, but there was no blood, and the eyes were no longer glowing red, but were dark?”</p><p>“Right.”</p><p>“That doesn’t make sense,” Camila says. “Divinium is organic. There should have been blood, right?”</p><p>“What if Tarasks aren’t completely organic?” I say. “What if they are mechanical? Or some mix of the two?”</p><p>“You mean like a cyborg?!” Ava says.</p><p>“I don’t know what I mean.” I say as I rub my eyes. “It all seems so improbable.”</p><p>“No. Maybe you’re right,” Ava says, “We know they can travel between realms, which means they can generate a gateway, but only for short periods of time. Does that sound familiar to either of you?”</p><p>Camila and I just stare at her, too tired to come up with a single answer to her question.</p><p>“Arq-tech!” she says.</p><p>“Of course!” I say. “The machine—the divinium gate.”</p><p>“Dr. Salvius said the divinium only has enough power to keep it open for a short period of time then it destabilizes and collapses in on itself. Maybe the same is true for the Tarasks.”</p><p>“So, what do we know?” I say. “What do we really know about Tarasks and divinium—not what the texts say—but what have we seen with our own eyes?”</p><p>“Divinium is an organic metal,” Camila says.</p><p>“That can power a temporary portal to another realm,” Ava adds.</p><p>“It can be forged into armor and weapons,” Camila says.</p><p>“Which can be used to fight other Tarasks,” Ava says.</p><p>“That’s true,” I say. “Because only divinium has the ability to destabilize other divinium.”</p><p>“And weaken the power of the halo,” Camila says.</p><p>“So, essentially,” Ava says, “the Tarasks are armored, weaponized, walking portal generators who are uniquely suited to hunting down the halo.”</p><p>I take a deep breath. “That sounds like a fair assessment.”</p><p>“That sounds like a cyborg!” She is nearly laughing at the thought.</p><p>“And why does that make you laugh?” I ask.</p><p>“Because fighting a cyborg sounds marginally more doable than fighting a demon. Marginally.”</p><p>“But the Tarasks aren’t even our biggest problem at the moment,” I say. “Lilith seems to have them under control for now.”</p><p>“Lilith doesn’t even have herself under control for now,” Ava says.</p><p>Camila crosses herself. “Poor Sister Lilith, may the Lord protect her.”</p><p>I sigh. “What I mean is, we still don’t know anything about the wraith demons, except that Adriel can control them somehow.”</p><p>“And that the halo has the power to free the possessed,” Camila says.</p><p>“What?” Ava says.</p><p>“When the halo, you know—” Camila makes an explosion sound with her mouth. “It knocked the wraith demons out of the possessed. Didn’t you know?”</p><p>“No,” Ava says. “I was a bit preoccupied at that moment.”</p><p>An image flashes in mind—Ava’s limp body dangling from Adriel’s outstretched hand. I clench my fists at the memory.</p><p>“We won’t let that happen again,” I say.</p><p>“And what if you’re not there next time?” she says, her tone softer than usual.</p><p>Our eyes meet again. She is scared. Very scared. I recognize her fear as my own.</p><p>
  <em>What if I’m not there? What if I can’t save her?</em>
</p><p>“Let’s just hope there isn’t a next time,” I say.</p><p>I see immediately that this answer does nothing to satisfy her, but she nods anyway. “Yeah.”</p><p>“The wraith demons have at least two weaknesses,” Camila says. “Both the halo and divinium can dispossess people. The Tarasks must have a weakness, too, because Adriel was able to defeat one and melt it down into armor. But what about Adriel? So far we don’t know what his weakness is.”</p><p>“It seems like past warrior nuns didn’t know, either,” I say. “That’s why they locked him up behind twenty feet of rock and Tarask bones.”</p><p>“And without divinium his is pretty much invincible,” Ava says.</p><p>“No,” I say, “nothing is invincible. We just need more information. We have to keep looking.”</p><p>It feels like we all sigh at once. The collective exhaustion in the room is palpable.</p><p>“Why don’t you rest?” I say to Camila. “I’ll look at these.”</p><p>She moves to the loveseat by the window and I take her place at the computer.</p><p>Ava moves away, too, making her way along the bookshelf. I dive into the OCS texts, hoping to find any new information to aid us in our research. But it’s not long before I hear Camila snoring softly behind me and I feel my own eyelids growing heavy. I sit up straighter, prop my head up on my hands, shake my head back and forth to keep myself awake. I manage to get through an hour, maybe a little longer this way, but at some point, the words on the screen all blend together. I do not comprehend or retain any of what I’m reading. I stand up to stretch.</p><p>Lingering at the bookshelf closest to me, Ava has leaned forward on her tiptoes, her head tilted back so she can see the highest shelf. I watch her a long time because I don’t have the energy to make myself stop.</p><p>
  <em>I don’t want to stop.</em>
</p><p>It brings me some comfort, however small, to watch her. She touches a book on the spine, she tilts it out of its place on the shelf, she cradles it gently in her hands and runs her fingers along the cover, an old cloth-bound cardboard cover, threadbare along the edges. She handles it very tenderly, and opens it to the cover page, pausing for a moment before bringing the whole thing to her nose. She inhales.</p><p>“You like reading?” I say.</p><p>She shrugs. “I like reading. And books.”</p><p>“Aren’t they the same thing?”</p><p>“The words in a book tell one story, but the book itself tells another.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“Back at the orphanage, people would donate boxes of books every now and then, and I would rip through as many as I could—well, I’d have Diego rip through them for me. Sometimes he’d set them up on an old music stand so I could read on my own, and he’d come by and turn the pages when I needed him to. But the nuns took that away when they realized how much I liked it.”</p><p>“He sounds like a good friend.”</p><p>“He was.” She brings the book to her nose and takes another breath. “Anyway, all those books carried so many new worlds with them, not just the stories the authors intended to tell, but the stories of the other readers, too. Stories of people so different from me, who lived out their entire lives somewhere out there in the real world. People who dogeared pages with normal fingers, and who underlined words or wrote notes in the margins with normal hands, and who smoked cigars and wore perfume and spilled their coffee. People who dropped their book in a puddle or the bathtub. Books can tell those stories, too. ”</p><p>I look at the book in her hands. I know it well, though I haven’t seen or thought of it in a long time.</p><p>“And what story does that book tell you?” I say.</p><p>She runs her hand over the worn out cover. “This book is loved.”</p><p>I smile. “How can you tell?”</p><p>“Do you see how the edges are worn only in certain places? That’s because it’s been taken on and off the same shelf over many years. And see this? The spine has been re-glued, which shows it’s been cared for. And on the inside cover, there is a dedication which I can’t make out because it’s in Japanese or something.” She stares at the writing a moment longer, then shrugs. “But it doesn’t matter, because a dedication means this book was a gift. So, either someone loved this book so much they gave it as a gift, or someone received the book as a gift and grew to love it. Either way, it’s still a love story.”</p><p>She looks up and I’m speechless. She blushes when our eyes meet.</p><p>“What?” she says as she closes the book. “You didn’t expect me to be this deep, did you?”</p><p>“On the contrary,” I say, and before I know it, I’m standing beside her. “If anything, I’ve learned to expect the unexpected.”</p><p>“Fair,” she says in that braggy sort of way. “Aren’t you going to tell me if I’m right?”</p><p>“What? About the book?” I take it from her hands and open it to the inside cover. “It’s a book of Buddhist verses. My grandmother gave it to me when I was going through a difficult time. She said her mother had given it to her. She gave it to me because she loved it. And now I love it, too, though I haven’t seen it in years. So, yes, I suppose you were right except for one thing.”</p><p>I tap the inscription on the inside cover and she leans closer. “What?”</p><p>“It’s Chinese, not Japanese.”</p><p>“What does it say?”</p><p>“To my little rabbit…” I pause and smile. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.”</p><p>“I guess you <em>are</em> kind of like a rabbit.” She leans over my shoulder as if she can read the words with me. “What else does it say?”</p><p>“All forms are impermanent—even ideas. Some things cannot be known through study alone.”</p><p>“Wow,” Ava says. “Grams is deep.”</p><p>“She was.”</p><p>“Oh, I didn’t think—I’m sorry.”</p><p>“It’s okay. She was old. It was her time.” Ava nods her head and I feel the energy in the room shift at the mention of death. I move to place the book back on the shelf. “Anyway, you were right about the book. Sometimes I think she loved me more than—.”</p><p>“Wait.” She reaches for my hand before I can get to the shelf. “Do you mind if I—?”</p><p>I turn and our faces are very close. Our faces are so close, in fact, that her face has become everything. “Of course not.”</p><p>I hesitate. I look back at our hands, hers pressed against the back of mine, pressed against the back of the book, pressed against the shelf. She misreads the moment, takes a step back, stutters.</p><p>“I mean, I don’t have to. I know it’s old and fragile and important to you.”</p><p>“No, it’s fine,” I say. “I’m just tired. Please take it.”</p><p>What I don’t say is, <em>The spot on the back of my hand still tingles where you touched me.</em> Or, <em>How do you always manage to become everything?</em></p><p>I watch her carry the book to a big soft chair in the corner and curl herself around it like a cat.</p><p>What I don’t say is, <em>I think</em> <em>I love that book very much.</em> <em>I love that book more than I knew. </em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Beatrice puts the book back on the shelf and I can’t stop myself from reaching for it.</p><p>“Wait. Do you mind if I—?”</p><p>She looks up, startled, like I’ve smacked her, but really, all I did was touch the back of her hand. Our eyes meet and she stares. Her expression is something new, something I’ve never seen. She is unguarded, uncalculating, blank. Her mouth is open slightly. Her eyes roam my face slowly. I feel suddenly hot.</p><p>
  <em>Wait. Do I feel hot because I don’t like this? Or because I do like this?</em>
</p><p>It must be a scary thought, because I feel the halo tingle along my spine.</p><p>
  <em>Well, I definitely don’t like that.</em>
</p><p>I remove my hand. Step away. “I mean, I don’t have to. I know it’s old and fragile and important to you.”</p><p>Now she is confused. But so am I. The tingling hasn’t stopped.</p><p>“No, it’s fine,” she says. “I’m just tired. Please take it.”</p><p>I take the book and retreat across the room to a comfy looking chair. I try my best to act normal. I try to sit as casually as possible, like how I see teenagers sit on TV, their knees up as they lounge across the arms of a chair. I try this casual pose and it’s not comfortable at all, but I feel her eyes on me, so I have to commit.</p><p>I open the book and try to focus, but over the top of it I can see her.</p><p>She stretches her arms over her head and leans to one side, then straight down until her hands touch the floor. She stands back upright, then repeats the movement on the other side.</p><p>Before I know it, she lunges forward until she has one knee on the ground and the other jutted out in front of her in a perfect ninety-degree angle. She stretches this way and that, then twists backward and up, and through some magic act of contortion, she reaches behind herself and grabs a foot she has bent upward. It looks like it should be painful, but she clearly is not in pain.</p><p>
  <em>Jesus, I can’t even sit in a chair right.</em>
</p><p>Next, she squats so low that her butt almost touches the floor. She grabs onto her big toes, her knees spread wide apart, and she just rocks back and forth like that. My crotch hurts just watching it.</p><p>
  <em>Wait. Is my crotch hurting? Is hurting the right word here?</em>
</p><p>Finally, she lowers herself onto the ground, careful to avoid putting weight on her bad wrist, her knees spread wide, like she is straddling an invisible body.</p><p>
  <em>Okay. Hurting isn’t the right word. </em>
</p><p>She leans forward with her elbow, and exhales heavily as she plants her forearm firmly on the ground, locks her hands together into a brace, and shuffles quickly to the side on her knees. She sits up and repeats the sequence a few times on each side, until finally she rolls all the way forward into a somersault that gets her back onto her feet.</p><p>She stands up one last time and, because I forget to pretend to be reading, our eyes meet. I feel the force of her attention like a punch in the gut.</p><p>
  <em>What the fuck?</em>
</p><p>She blushes as she rubs at her wrist. “Sorry. That probably looked pretty strange. I needed to do something to wake myself up.”</p><p>
  <em>This is fine. I think I read about this once in a psychology magazine.</em>
</p><p>“Don’t apologize,” I say, thankful that she hasn’t noticed my own flustered face. I try to distract her with questions. “What was that, anyway?”</p><p>
  <em>Women can become aroused by a wide variety of visual stimuli. I’m pretty sure that’s what the magazine said. Like seeing a man and a woman, or two men or two women engaged in, well, yeah…</em>
</p><p>“Just some jui-jitsu exercises,” she says. “I’m supposed to do them with a body pillow, and without a sprained wrist. It would have made more sense than what you just saw. I don’t usually just wrestle with the ground.”</p><p>
  <em>The woman’s sexual orientation didn’t matter, both heterosexual and homosexual women could become aroused…</em>
</p><p>“It looked pretty good to me,” I say, “pillow or no pillow. And besides, who am I to judge? I’ve never successfully wrestled with anything in my life, including the ground.”</p><p>“I disagree.”</p><p>I’m puzzled. “What?”</p><p>“You’ve wrestled with a lot these days. Including twenty feet of necropolis wall and your innermost fears.”</p><p>
  <em>And now, with a possible sexual awakening? </em>
</p><p>“Okay, well, I didn’t mean metaphorically.” I can hardly look at her.</p><p>“I could show you the basics if you want,” she says.</p><p>The halo sends a barely there bolt through my back that startles me up from my awkward position. “No thanks. I’m good.”</p><p>“Ava, you can’t rely on the halo anymore. Don’t you think it’s time to learn some combat skills?”</p><p>“Yes. Absolutely, but maybe another time.”</p><p>She sighs and rubs at her wrist. “You’re right. Another day would be better, once we’re all rested.”</p><p>“Right.” But for some reason the idea of waiting doesn’t feel any better. I sit up and set the book on the end table. “I’m feeling kind of hungry. Are you hungry?”</p><p>She thinks a moment. “Yes, I suppose I am.”</p><p>“I’m going to go look for some snacks.”</p><p>“Do you need help?”</p><p>“No, I’m good.”</p><p>I leave her in the library and close the door behind me. I make my way to the kitchen and start opening and closing cupboards at random. I open them without really even looking inside before closing them again. I make several rounds through the kitchen and still haven’t found anything, because I’m not really looking. Finally, I stand in front of an open cupboard, my hands still resting on the handles.</p><p>“What’s the big deal?” I say to the row of fancy crackers.</p><p>
  <em>The big deal is, that’s your friend. That’s your one friend. You can’t screw this up.</em>
</p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous.”<em> We’ve already been over this. It’s just a physiological reaction. It happens to lots of women. It was nothing. Totally normal.</em></p><p>“It didn’t feel like nothing.” I reach for a box of crackers. I open it and put one in my mouth half-heartedly. “It felt like the opposite of nothing.”</p><p>“Ava?” Beatrice says behind me.</p><p>I spin around, nearly spitting cracker crumbs from my mouth.</p><p>“Are you okay?” She stands at the doorway, a curious look on her face.</p><p>“What? Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”</p><p>“Who are you talking to?”</p><p>“Oh, no one.” I try to play it off. “I got so used to being left alone at the orphanage, that I, uh, I talk to myself sometimes. It’s nothing. Just an old <em>habit</em>. See what I did there?”</p><p>She rolls her eyes as she enters the kitchen and joins me by the cupboard. “Did you find anything good?”</p><p>“Just a lot of fancy crackers.” I slip slowly along the counter to put more distance between us until I’m completely on the other side.</p><p>She opens more cupboards, and unlike me, she actually looks into them. But she doesn’t seem any more impressed than I am.</p><p>“You’re right,” she says. “If we are going to stay here for any length of time, we’ll need to buy more food.”</p><p>“But Mary said not to leave the house until she gets back.”</p><p>“We still haven’t heard from her and it’s been—” She pauses to look at the clock. “Twelve hours already. It’s better to assume she won’t be returning any time soon.”</p><p>“So then what?”</p><p>“I guess I will have to go grocery shopping.”</p><p>“Right now?”</p><p>“No, not now, but sometime soon.” She opens the freezer and lets out a happy gasp. “Pizza!”</p><p>She turns and displays the pizza box to me and her smile is radiant. I haven’t seen her smile like that since we were back in the lab at Arq-tech. It feels like forever ago.</p><p>I watch her turn on the oven. I watch her open the cardboard box, take out the pizza, unwrap it and set it on the counter. I watch her brush her hair from her face and push her sleeves up her forearms. I notice her hands, her trimmed nails, her smooth skin. She leans over the box, reading the instructions, and I notice her long neck, the way her hair falls across it. She tucks her hair behind her ear, and so I notice her ear. It’s a beautiful ear.</p><p>
  <em>Come on, this is ridiculous. What’s happening to you? </em>
</p><p>“Back at Arq-tech,” I say suddenly. “When we were reading about the nun in France, the one who killed all the Nazis…”</p><p>“Yes?” she says without looking up from the box.</p><p>“It’s just, it seemed like you were trying to tell me something? About you? And how you were similar to Sister Melanie?”</p><p>She looks up slowly. There is a hint of fear in her eyes but she smiles. “What made you think of that?”</p><p>“I was just remembering what you said about being in this house, how it’s uncomfortable for you, and about how your grandmother gave you that book during a difficult time, and that you didn’t fit in with the OCS at first, and that pain made you a sister warrior. I mean, I think I know what you were saying, but I don’t want to assume.”</p><p>“Ava, are you asking what I think you’re asking?”</p><p>“I’m asking, do you…like other women? Like, are you attracted to them? Because if you are, that’s fine. That’s wonderful. That’s beautiful. I meant it back at Arq-tech when I said you were beautiful—” I swallow the last word and look down at the countertop.</p><p>The silence that falls on the room feels like a ton of bricks that I’m stuck inside. Neither of us move, and I can’t make myself look at her.</p><p>Then she speaks, and by the sound of her voice, I can tell she’s smiling. “There’s a word for it, you know.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“Then why don’t you say it?” She’s teasing me.</p><p>I look up. “Why don’t you say it?”</p><p>She smiles and glances away. “Because it’s still hard for me, I guess. I’m still getting used to it.”</p><p>“So, this is still something new for you?”</p><p>Her eyes go wide like they do when she gets shy. “I don’t know. Yes and no. Why the sudden interest?”</p><p>“I’m just curious. I’ve never known anyone who’s—”</p><p>“Homosexual?”</p><p>“Homosexual. Or bisexual. Though, to be fair, I’ve hardly even known anyone who’s heterosexual.”</p><p>She laughs at that. “I’m just me—Beatrice.”</p><p>“And you’re…?”</p><p>“Gay,” she says finally. “Wow. It feels good to say it out loud.”</p><p>“Like, one hundred percent? Only interested in women?”</p><p>“Yes, I think so.”</p><p>“And now you’re a nun, surrounded by women all day. Living the dream, right?”</p><p>She rolls her eyes. “I took vows, Ava.”</p><p>“So, you’re a masochist.”</p><p>“Hardly. It’s not like I’m walking around gawking at every woman I see.”</p><p>“No,” I say. “You’re far too civilized to gawk. But you must peek sometimes.”</p><p>“No, not really.” She blushes. “Not at the other Sisters, anyway.”</p><p>I lean forward, also blushing. “I’m listening.”</p><p>She covers her mouth with her hand. “Oh, what am I even saying?”</p><p>“No, don’t stop now.” I reach across the counter. “You were just getting to the good part.”</p><p>She takes a deep breath and her cheeks relax into a more calm, more serious expression.</p><p>“Come on,” I say. “It’s just me here, and we both know I’m no nun. I’m not even a Catholic.”</p><p>“It’s not that.”</p><p>“Then what?”</p><p>She crosses her hands neatly on the countertop and looks down at them. “Do you know that you’re the first person to ask me about it so openly like this? Everyone at Cat’s Cradle was always so hush, hush, though I’ve never tried to hide it from anyone. I’m certain everyone knows, but it’s not something anyone talks about. Which is weird, because it feels like such a big part of me, such a big source of my pain and my strength, and I have to keep it wrapped up, nice and quiet for everyone else’s comfort. It’s nice to not have to do that.”</p><p>“In that case,” I say, “have you ever, you know?”</p><p>It’s the start of a conversation I’ve always dreamed of having with a best friend. I can tell by the light in her eyes that she has, too.</p><p>“No,” she says finally.</p><p>“Kissed?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>I’m so excited for her, I nearly climb over the counter. “Was it another nun?”</p><p>She shakes her head. “No. A friend in boarding school.”</p><p>“A friend? Or a <em>girlfriend</em>?”</p><p>The light in her eyes dims a little. “Just a friend. We were just messing around. Nothing ever came of it in the end.”</p><p>“What?” I say, surprised at how angry I sound. “Who would just mess around with you? You’re, like, perfect girlfriend material. That’s bullshit!”</p><p>“Wow. Okay.”</p><p>“Seriously, that girl was a dumbass, whoever she was.”</p><p>“I think I have her phone number still in case you want to call her up and cuss her out.”</p><p>“I might.”</p><p>“It wasn’t really her fault,” she says. “My mom walked in on us in my room one day, fooling around on my bed, and after that my parents sort of just…scared her off.”</p><p>“Your parents suck balls.”</p><p>She sighs and nods. “Pretty much.”</p><p>Against my will, I am imagining it, Beatrice kissing some nameless, faceless girl. They sit on her bed. No, they lay on her bed. Fooling around.</p><p>I look at her lips, and I wonder if she is a good kisser.</p><p>
  <em>Of course, she is. This is Beatrice. She’s good at everything she does. </em>
</p><p>“What about you?” she says.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>She asks quietly, “Have you ever kissed anyone?”</p><p>“Yes,” I say. “Just once.” I don’t know how much I should actually tell her.</p><p>“The guy from Arq-tech? The one who brought to you to the party?”</p><p>“You knew about him?”</p><p>She nods. “Is he the reason you left the OCS?”</p><p>“One of the reasons.”</p><p>“Well, you came back, so I guess he wasn’t a good kisser?”</p><p>I laugh. “No, he was a very good kisser.” She shifts uncomfortably for a moment, or do I just imagine that? “I guess you could say he got scared off, too, but in a much more literal way.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” she says.</p><p>“It’s okay.”</p><p>She looks down at her hands again. “Did you love him?”</p><p>“I don’t know. Mary says it was just hormones, but it felt like something more than that.”</p><p>She looks at me, pensive. “If you woke up tomorrow, and the halo was magically gone, and you could do whatever you wanted, would you go find him?”</p><p>“That’s a good question. I guess I don’t really know. That kind of daydream feels like a privilege I just don’t have right now. And anyway, I could ask you the same thing.”</p><p>“Would I go find your boyfriend?” Her voice is thick with sarcasm. “I highly doubt it.”</p><p>
  <em>Wait. What was that sass about?</em>
</p><p>“No,” I say. “If the halo was gone, would you still be a Sister Warrior? Or, would you go find a nice woman and live happily ever after?”</p><p>She looks suddenly tired. Her giddiness from just moments before evaporates in an instant. “Even if the halo were gone, I’d still have my vows.”</p><p>“Yeah, but I thought you took them when you joined the OCS. No more OCS, no more vows.”</p><p>“I didn’t have to take vows in order to join. Mary never did.”</p><p>“Then why did you?”</p><p>“Taking vows is an act of commitment to God and to his higher mission. It is also a way to declutter the mind and spirit. When worldly things are off limits, it’s easier to focus on holy things.”</p><p>“The only problem is, who gets to decide what is holy and unholy? What was it your grandmother said? All forms are impermanent—even ideas? Shit, just look at me. I thought I’d be alone in that bed forever. In fact, I was alone in that bed until the day I died. That’s as permanent a state as you can find yourself in, and yet…turned out to be not so permanent after all. My point is, maybe one day this halo will be gone and there won’t be a need for the OCS anymore. Maybe then you will find your <em>someone</em>.”</p><p>“It’s a lovely thought experiment.” She looks deep into my eyes and I’m surprised by the sadness I see there. “There’s only one flaw in your logic.”</p><p>“What’s that?”</p><p>“If the halo were gone, then you wouldn’t be here, and I’d rather take a hundred vows than live in that version of reality.”</p><p>“Wow.” She is so earnest, her gaze unwavering, her back rigid, her mouth a straight line, that I’m speechless. What do you say to a statement like that? “Okay, but who have you been peeking at? Is it Mother Superion? Is that why you made up names about her? We always tease the ones we love.”</p><p>She lets out a loud, boisterous laugh like I’ve never heard from her before. “Shut up! That’s absurd. I told you, it’s no one at the OCS!”</p><p>“No, you said it wasn’t any of the Sisters.”</p><p>Just then Camila walks in the room, rubbing her eyes. “What’s so funny?”</p><p>Beatrice clams up. “Nothing.”</p><p>“No, not nothing,” I say. “I’m trying to figure out who Beatrice has a crush on.”</p><p>“Really?!” Camila nearly throws herself at the counter beside me. “I didn’t know you had a crush. Is it one of the Sisters?”</p><p>“No!” Beatrice cries as she covers her face with hands. “And it’s not a crush. I don’t have a crush on anyone. It’s just someone I’ve noticed. On occasion.”</p><p>Camila furrows her brows. “Is it the cook’s daughter? The pretty one who comes every now and then to help out?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Is it the woman who brings the produce in the mornings?”</p><p>“No. Please stop.”</p><p>“Oh!” Camila says as she points a finger wildly in the air and snaps. “I know! It’s the woman down at the bakery at the bottom of the hill. She always gives you extra bread.”</p><p>“She does not!” Beatrice’s face goes bright red.</p><p>“Oh my god,” I say as I squeeze Camila’s arm. “That’s it. It’s the baker! You get free bread? What a flirt!”</p><p>“Aw,” Camila leans forward and rests her chin in her hands. “She’s very pretty. Nice forearms from all that kneading.”</p><p>“She does?” I can’t help but glance down at my own thin arms.</p><p>
  <em>Well, I don’t need thick arms. I have a halo, okay?</em>
</p><p>“You have excellent taste, Bea,” Camila continues. “How come you’ve never told me this before?”</p><p>Beatrice looks down. “Honestly, I don’t know. But it’s nice—to talk about it now.”</p><p>“Anytime, Bea. That’s what friends are for.”</p><p>Camila walks around the counter and gives Beatrice a hug that warms my heart.</p><p>I imagine myself in Camila’s place. It’s not hard because I’ve been there before.</p><p>Beatrice held me once at Cat’s Cradle, right after Mother Superion had been so terrible to me. I barely knew her then. I suppose I barely know her now. At yet, I feel so much closer to her. Close enough to know that she doesn’t give out this sort of affection easily. Perhaps it’s this knowledge of scarcity that makes me crave it more.</p><p>I know how it feels to be in her arms, and in this exact moment I want it. But then I lock eyes with Beatrice over Camila’s shoulder and I feel a pang of…<em>something. </em>I have to look away.</p><p>“Do I smell pizza?” Camila says.</p><p>“Yes! Pizza!” Beatrice spins around and opens the oven.</p><p>Camila flashes me the biggest smile and gives me a thumbs up. She doesn’t say why, but I appreciate the feeling of being her co-conspirator. I think it’s because something has changed about Beatrice. Something has changed about all of us. A weight has been lifted. A bond formed.</p><p>“Dinner is served,” Beatrice says as she pulls the pizza from the oven.</p><p>We sit at the table and I can’t stop myself from looking back and forth between them as they chat about all the boys Camila has admired. They look so happy. They look so young.</p><p>
  <em>I think I have real friends now. This is what real friends are supposed to be doing. Gossiping. Laughing. Embarrassing each other. Not fighting supernatural wars. </em>
</p><p>We gossip and laugh and tease each other for the rest of the night, until we can hardly keep our eyes open. Then we huddle into my room, because Beatrice says it’s the room with the largest bed, and we all pile in together. I don’t remember when this decision was made, but we agree that we are safer staying in the same room.</p><p>“I’ve never had a slumber party before,” I say.</p><p>“I call the middle!” Camila says as she jumps onto the bed.</p><p>Beatrice comes into the room last, carrying a long knife in one hand which she sets on the night stand, and two sets of pajamas in the other hand.</p><p>I change in the bathroom and by the time I come back out, they are both tucked into bed with the light out and the TV on. I crawl into bed beside Camila, and Beatrice is on the far side.</p><p>I’m so exhausted and so relieved to not be in that big bed alone, that I fall asleep almost immediately.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I wake up to the sound of Camila snoring beside me and the sound is so loud, I wonder how she hasn’t woken herself up yet.</p><p>I slip from the bed, and I’m about to slip out the door when I hear Ava stir in her sleep. I pause and listen. One moment, she whimpers and tosses in the bed, and the next she is quiet.</p><p>I tiptoe to her side of the bed, and though I can’t be sure in the dark, I think she is still asleep.</p><p>She whimpers again, whipping her head back and forth.</p><p>I sit on the edge of the bed and whisper, “Ava?”</p><p>She doesn’t wake. I reach for her arm, shake it gently. “Ava.”</p><p>She wakes with a gasp and looks up at me.</p><p>“I think you are dream—”</p><p>Before I can finish the sentence she pulls me down toward her, I’m half-lying on top of her. She buries her face in my neck, and I feel her muffled cries against my collarbone. In the darkness, I allow myself to melt into her embrace, and a wave of warmth washes over me, followed immediately by a wave of shame at my own pleasure. I brace myself against the mattress with my good hand.</p><p>“He’s going to kill him,” she says into my shoulder. “I just know it.”</p><p>I pull away, trying to see her in the dark. “Who’s going to kill who?”</p><p>“Diego,” she says. “Adriel is looking for him.”</p><p>Despite my hesitations, I cup her face in my hands and try to shush her. “It was just a dream. You’re safe now."</p><p>She grabs hold of my hands and chokes back her tears. I feel her caress the back of my hand with her thumb. She stares up at me for I don’t know how long, when her mouth falls open slightly. I tell myself it’s because she’s been crying.</p><p>“Beatrice…” she starts. She hesitates, licks her lips.</p><p>“Let’s not wake Camila,” I whisper. “C’mon.”</p><p>She nods and when I stand up from the bed, her fingers fall away from mine. This disappoints me more than it should. I lead her out of the room and down the stairs to the library. We don’t sit. We hardly even enter the room. Instead we stand by the door, and I keep her at arm’s length. It feels safer that way.</p><p>“What makes you so sure Adriel is looking for Diego?”</p><p>“I saw it. In my dream. I was back at the orphanage, and I had just done something terrible to that woman. I think I killed her. But she deserved it! That bitch poisoned me. Had <em>been</em> poisoning me for years. And she was trying to do the same thing to Diego. I had to stop her.”</p><p>“It’s okay, Ava,” I say. “It’s over now.”</p><p>“But it’s not over. We were in the hallway again and I had just—” She looks down at her own hands, then crosses her arms, as if to hide them from herself. “Anyway, this time Adriel was there with us. And Diego ran away down the hallway and Adriel watched and said to me, ‘So, this is the one you care for the most.’ And he followed Diego, and I tried to stop him, but it was like I was trapped in the wall again and I couldn’t move and I couldn’t speak and I couldn’t warn Diego that Adriel was coming. Beatrice, I have to protect him.”</p><p>“Ava, it was just a dream.”</p><p>“But it wasn’t.”</p><p>“What makes you say that?”</p><p>“Because it didn’t feel like a dream. It was more real. Adriel was really there. I felt him watching me. I still feel him watching me.” She hugs herself tighter and looks around the room. “Ever since he touched me back in the catacombs, I can’t seem to get him out of my head.”</p><p>“Hold on,” I say. “What did he say to you? In the dream?”</p><p>“He said, ‘So, this is the one you care for the most.’”</p><p>“And is it true? Is Diego the one you care for most?”</p><p>I brace myself, knowing I won’t like her answer.</p><p>“Well, in that moment it was true,” she says. “At that time I thought Diego was my best friend—but things change.”</p><p>She looks up, still hugging herself. Her brows crease into a silent question. It’s written all over her face in a language I can almost read, if only I were brave enough to try.</p><p>I walk to the computer. I turn it on so that I have something else to look at. A distraction.</p><p>I take a deep breath. “If Adriel does have some sort of psychic connection to you, then maybe he’s trying to find leverage—a way to draw you out of hiding.”</p><p>“You think he wants to use Diego as bait?”</p><p>“I think he will try to find as much information about you as possible in order to find a weakness. To manipulate you into doing what he wants.” I show her the computer. On the screen there is footage of her arriving at St. Michael’s orphanage in the night.</p><p>“Where did you get that?”</p><p>“It’s an Arq-tech dashcam,” I say. “Dr. Salvius sent a squadron of men after you that night.”</p><p>“I remember.” She leans across me to get a better look. “But how did you get it?”</p><p>“Let’s just say Sister Camila made good use of her time there—and of her IT skills.”</p><p>“You hacked Arq-tech?” She laughs in delight. “That’s badass!”</p><p>"It was a tactical decision.”</p><p>“An ethically gray tactical decision.”</p><p>“Most tactical decisions are.”</p><p>“It’s still pretty badass.” Something catches her eye. “Holy shit! Is that you?”</p><p>She points at the screen, her mouth wide open.</p><p>“Yes,” I say. “The night you returned to the orphanage, we went to Arq-tech to recover the Shield of Adriel.”</p><p>“Oh my god!” She laughs out loud. “How many men did you just take out?”</p><p>“I’m not sure, exactly. Maybe six or seven. Plus one woman.”</p><p>I relish the way she looks at me in that moment, equal parts impressed and intrigued. Her smile is brightened by her genuine delight.</p><p><em>She is so beautiful</em>, I think. <em>How can someone so beautiful be looking at me like this?</em></p><p>“What?” I say.</p><p>“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” She raises her brows in that cocky way of hers.</p><p>“You’ve seen me fight before, Ava. This is hardly a surprise.”</p><p>“Yes, but it’s still hard to believe that that person kicking the shit out of seven men—”</p><p>“—and one woman—”</p><p>“—is the same quiet, reserved, gentle person standing right here in front of me.”</p><p>I feel the full weight of her attention like a kick in the gut. I blush and look away. She turns back to the screen.</p><p>“Anyway,” she says as she clears her throat, “I can see why you don’t trust Arq-tech.”</p><p>“I have always questioned Dr. Salvius’ motives. I felt certain that she wasn’t being completely forthright with us. Even if she did let us borrow some bricks and a lab, there were still many things she was withholding.”</p><p>“Like what?”</p><p>“Well,” I start scrolling through the archive of footage—dashcams, CC TV, video from the press release party. “For instance, we still don’t fully understand her motives for building the arc.”</p><p>“She thought it was a gateway to heaven.”</p><p>“You don’t really believe that, do you?”</p><p>“Well, maybe not heaven <em>exactly</em>, but another dimension where her son could survive. She built it to protect him.”</p><p>“But where did she even get the idea? The church has known about the holy power of divinium for centuries, and not a single word was ever written about using it to create an arc. In a thousand years, not a single word. So where did she get the idea? She’s not even a believer.”</p><p>“Something tells me you’re not going to say divine intervention.”</p><p>I open a video. It’s CCTV footage of a small office, barely bigger than a closet. The room is empty, but the walls are covered in scribbled equations and drawings, papers taped to the wall. Ava leans over me again to get a better look. She smells like guestroom body wash.</p><p>“What am I looking at?” she says.</p><p>“The blueprints of the arc, I presume.”</p><p>She leans even further forward. Her shoulder brushes against my arm. I physically shake, but I don’t think she notices. I take a step away.</p><p>“Why are they written in chicken scratch?” she says.</p><p>“Because they weren’t made by Dr. Salvius. They were made by her son, Michael.”</p><p>“Michael?” She stands upright. She stares at me, but there is a distant look in her eyes. She walks a few paces away. Stops at the couch. Turns back. “The divinium?”</p><p>I nod. “I hypothesize that Adriel doesn’t just receive information through the divinium, but he can <em>transmit</em> it too.”</p><p>“So Adriel told Michael, and Michael told Dr. Salvius. That’s how she knew to build the arc.”</p><p>“Yes,” I say. “Which brings me back to the original question. Why was she really building it?”</p><p>“Because Adriel wanted her to.”</p><p>I sigh. “It would seem so.”</p><p>“Jesus. Talk about a master manipulator.”</p><p>“Now you see why I say he may be trying to confuse you with these dreams, get you to do something stupid.”</p><p>She heads back toward the sofa. “It’s not stupid to want to protect the one person who was there for me when no one else was.”</p><p>My stomach drops. “You know that’s not what I meant.”</p><p>She hesitates with her back to me. Her voice softens. “I know.”</p><p>“Look, I will contact the orphanage first thing in the morning and make sure Diego is okay. But we can’t risk going there, especially not if that’s what Adriel wants. Either way, there isn’t much else we can do tonight. We should try to rest.”</p><p>“The last thing I want to do right now is go back to sleep. What if I dream again?”</p><p>“I know I can’t protect you in your dreams, but here in the real world, you are not alone. And if you do start dreaming, I’ll wake you.” I step close to her and reach out my hand. I tell myself it’s just a platonic handshake. “Deal?”</p><p>After a moment of deliberation, she takes my hand in hers. “Deal.”</p><p>Then, rather unexpectedly, she turns my hand to get a better look at my wrist. I watch in disbelief as she lays her other hand over my forearm and begins to stroke the back of my wrist tenderly. The behavior is uncharacteristically nurturing for her.</p><p>“How’s your wrist?” she asks quietly. “Still nebulous?”</p><p>Her fingers linger for a moment, then move ever-so-slightly up my forearm and fall away. The entire gesture lasts only a moment, but the expansive, pulsing sensation that blooms in my chest is much longer lasting, much further reaching. For the second time that night, I physically shake.</p><p>“Well—sort of—no. What?” I stutter.</p><p>“Your wrist? Is the pain still nebulous?”</p><p>I touch my own wrist where she touched me. “It’s a little better. Thanks.”</p><p>“I hope you know that it’s not true anymore,” she says suddenly. “Diego isn’t the one that I care most for. Not anymore.”</p><p>“No?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>My cheeks burn with both fear and excitement. “What changed?”</p><p>
  <em>Is she saying what I think she is saying?</em>
</p><p>She looks at me with a crooked smile and punches my arm in an awkward attempt to be playful. “Isn’t it obvious?”</p><p>Suddenly I am laughing. I don’t know why I’m laughing, but all of these strange gestures are making me nervous. “Ava, what are you talking about?”</p><p>I wait, barely breathing. The look in her eyes sends another bloom of pleasure out from my chest, but this time it spreads so fast, it’s more like a firecracker. In that moment, I’m bursting with hope. And that scares me.</p><p>She watches me and I see my own fear and hope reflected in her eyes.</p><p>“Nothing,” she says finally. “Just that the Sisters have become important to me.”</p><p>“Oh.” My chest feels heavy. My muscles tight. I am crushed. I look away, turn off the computer, in a pathetic effort to hide my disappointment.</p><p>“And you, too,” she says quickly over my shoulder. “I mean, you mean a lot to me, too.”</p><p>But I barely hear her. I have resolved to hide my disappointment behind a mask of indifference.</p><p>“You too, Ava. You’ve become a good friend."</p><p>If she notices my trembling, she doesn’t let on. Instead she turns to look at the door. “I don’t suppose there are any other guestrooms in this house? Preferably ones far away from Camila?”</p><p>I see something in her eyes, something like mischief. But I’m so distracted by what’s happening in my own heart, that I only note it distantly.</p><p>“Yes, there is a room down here on the first floor.” I lead her out of the library and away from the stairs toward a small room in the back corner of the house. I turn on the light. “I’m afraid it’s not much. It used to be the servant’s quarters. But it’s quiet.”</p><p>“Uhhh…where’s your room?”</p><p>“Upstairs. And too close to Camila for comfort, probably.”</p><p>“Oh. Gotcha.” She steps into the room, takes a look around at the modest bed pushed up against the far wall, at the strangely ornate chair in one corner, and the old-fashioned secretary desk in the other corner. The air is stale and heavy. She tilts her head as if listening, then says, “Do you hear that?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Exactly. It’s perfect.” She looks at the bed, then looks back up at me like she is expecting something. I don’t know what. She points to the bed. “So, should I just—?”</p><p>“Go ahead,” I say.</p><p>She walks to the bed, then turns back. She is oddly nervous.</p><p>
  <em>Why is she nervous? She saw it, didn’t she? She saw how I really felt about her, and now she feels sorry for me. Or worse, she feels uncomfortable because she doesn’t feel the same way about me.</em>
</p><p>“Are you going to get the light?” she says.</p><p>“Oh, of course.”</p><p>As I watch her climb into the bed a wave of confusion grips me. I turn off the light and hesitate in the darkness.</p><p>
  <em>She doesn’t want to share a bed with me but she doesn’t know how to tell me. That’s fine. I will save her the trouble. </em>
</p><p>“Goodnight, Ava.” I grab a quilt from the foot of the bed and plop myself in the chair in the corner.</p><p>“What are you doing?” she asks from the bed.</p><p>“Getting comfortable. What are you doing?”</p><p>“That’s where you’re sleeping?” She’s incredulous.</p><p>“I don’t think it’s wise to leave you alone, but I can go if you prefer.”</p><p>“No, I don’t want you to go. I thought you would—it doesn’t make sense for you to sleep in that chair.”</p><p>“Ava, I’m fine. Besides, that bed is too small.”</p><p>She looks around herself. “You clearly have never seen a small bed before. If the three of us could fit in the bed upstairs, then the two of us can fit in this one.”</p><p>“That was different.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Because that bed was enormous.”</p><p>
  <em>And because Camila was there, and Camila doesn’t make me feel like this.</em>
</p><p>“Well,” she stutters, becoming increasingly agitated, “I don’t—I won’t be able to sleep at all knowing you’re sitting over there all night. It’s creepy.”</p><p>Her words sting. I stand up. “I already told you, I’m more than happy to leave you here alone, but I don’t think that’s the best tactical decision. It is my duty to protect you.”</p><p>“Protect me from here!” She smacks the bed for emphasis.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I said come here! Be with me. I told you I don’t like sleeping alone.” Her voice cracks and softens. She looks down at her own hands as she fidgets with the blanket. “Why are you making this weird?”</p><p>In that moment I remember what she said back at Arq-tech about not wanting to be alone.</p><p>“I’m sorry.” I stand up and walk toward the bed, but I hesitate beside it, unable to make myself lay down beside her. I have to cross my arms to keep my hands from trembling. “The last thing I want is to make this weird.”</p><p>“What’s wrong?” she says softly. “Is it me?”</p><p>“No, of course not.”</p><p>“Because it suddenly feels like I’m missing something.”</p><p>“Ava, it’s not you.”</p><p>“Then what is it?”</p><p>I take a deep breath. “When I was at boarding school, we would always have these slumber parties in the dorms. Technically we weren’t supposed to, but the doors were never locked, so if we stayed awake long enough and waited for the nuns to fall asleep, then we could sneak out with our flashlights and go to whichever room we pleased. The beds were small, much smaller than this one, but we’d squeeze together anyway, sometimes even getting three or four of us in, if we slept head to foot.”</p><p>“That sounds like fun.”</p><p>“It was fun for many years. But then we got older and something changed.<em> I</em> changed. I never told any of my friends about me—about being gay—but I guess they must have sensed it, because the slumber party invites became less frequent, and then eventually they stopped altogether. I’d still hear the other girls sneak out of their rooms at night. I’d still see their lights under my door, but I just wasn’t invited anymore.”</p><p>She doesn’t move. She doesn’t say anything.</p><p>“I thought about it for years,” I continued. “I’d stay awake, wondering what I’d done. I must have done something in my sleep that I don’t remember. Said something? Touched someone? Otherwise, they wouldn’t have any reason to do that, right?”</p><p>“Hey.” She scooches closer. “First of all, those girls are assholes. And second, they aren’t here. It’s just me.”</p><p>“But what if I do something to make you uncomfortable? I couldn’t bear it if—”</p><p>“You know what makes me uncomfortable? The idea of you sitting in that chair all night like a creep.”</p><p>I laugh, just a little.</p><p>“Look at me.” Her voice trembles slightly. “Whatever it is that you think will happen—whatever it is that you’re scared of, I’m not.”</p><p>A hot tear rolls down my cheek and falls silently to the floor. I wipe my face with the back of my hand and nod, but in this moment, like so many other moments that night, I completely miss her meaning.</p><p>She scooches even closer. Sits up on her knees so that we are almost face to face. She looks up at me and takes my face in her hands. I have no choice but to look at her. I’m stunned by what I see.</p><p>Tenderness. Hesitation. <em>Desire.</em></p><p>“Did you hear what I said?” she whispers as she wipes at my tears. “I’m not afraid.”</p><p>I nod again. “I know.”</p><p>“No, I don’t think you do.” She looks at my lips, and in that instant I know she is going to kiss me.</p><p>I have no time to think before her lips are on mine—gentle, cautious, testing.</p><p>The kiss is soft. The room is quiet. She pulls back and looks up into my eyes. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispers before she slips her hand behind my neck and kisses me again.</p><p>Just like that. It’s so easy.</p><p>She kisses me and I kiss her, and the kissing feels like melting, and my body feels like clay, and her hands are the only things that give me shape.</p><p>Her hands are all over me. On my waist. On my ribs. On my neck and face. She slips both hands under my shirt, slides them up my stomach, but then she hesitates.</p><p>“Can I?”</p><p>“Wait.” I pull away, head for the door.</p><p>“Where are you going?”</p><p>“I just want to make sure.”</p><p>I turn the lock on the door and when I turn back to look at her, she has already slipped off her shirt. She stares back at me, only a beautiful silhouette in the dark. I cross myself, whisper a prayer, asking for forgiveness, asking for grace.</p><p>I pull my shirt off and toss it aside, and though my hands are shaking, and my chest is bare, I feel braver than I’ve ever felt. I cross the short distance to the bed and slip under the covers.</p><p>She greets me with eager hands and an eager mouth.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There is an awkward moment when Beatrice slides into the bed, when we both hesitate, when we are both afraid to get any closer, afraid to touch. She lays on her side, propping herself up on her elbow and looks down at me. Her hair falls forward, hiding half of her face, so she tucks it behind her ear.</p><p>She’s so fucking beautiful I want to rip my eyeballs out.</p><p>The only light in the room comes from the small window over my head, and yet it is bright enough to wash her face, neck, and shoulders with blue light. She looks like a Van Gogh painting. She looks like she’s made of light—only a concept, not a body. I touch her shoulder to make sure.</p><p>Her skin is warm. Her body is real. She is so <em>attractive</em>. My crotch is throbbing. My heart too.</p><p>“Must be a full moon,” I say.</p><p>She smiles and turns to look up at the window. “Must be.”</p><p>The room is absolutely silent. We stare. My heart pounds. We stare some more. My mouth goes dry and I think that I might explode if she doesn’t touch me soon.</p><p>I reach for her hand. I place it on my chest. My heart dances beneath my ribs. I take a deep breath.</p><p>Her fingers visibly pulse against my chest in time with my heart. We both watch — transfixed.</p><p>Then she lets her hand roam over my stomach. She is slow. Inquisitive.</p><p>She looks into my eyes, asking quietly for permission. There is something unnamable in her expression that I have never seen, a look that makes my toes curl in anticipation, makes my hips squirm against the mattress, makes my shoulder lean toward her. She smiles, and then, like a switch is flipped, she transforms right before my eyes.</p><p>Mouth open, she cups my breast in her hand. My back arches before I even know what’s happening. My hands reach for her.</p><p>I pull her into a kiss. I find her lips in the dark.</p><p>For a moment my mind is blurry. The night is blurry. The light in the room, the light that strikes her skin, the light that filters in through my half-opened eyes—it’s all blurry.</p><p>But my body is sharp and focused. Every touch is noted. How could I not note it? I’d spent my whole life feeling nothing at all, and now every sensation felt like a new destination. I had no idea the places my body could go.</p><p>She moves over me, leaving breadcrumb kisses over my breasts, up my neck, down my arms to my fingertips, as if marking out the boundaries of me on a once blank map. I’m dumbfounded.</p><p>JC had led me to one place and one place only. This is different. This territory is vast. I had no idea.</p><p>She kisses my fingertips, pauses to watch me, then smiles, her lips still pressed to my fingers.</p><p>“What?” I say.</p><p>“You’re trembling.”</p><p>“Aren’t you?”</p><p>She blinks slowly and blushes. “Yes.”</p><p>“Beatrice—” Beneath her steady, serious expression there is a fire smoldering. And though I know she is just as aroused as I am, she is still so gentle. I honestly can’t remember the last time anyone has ever been this gentle with me. In this moment I want nothing more than to be either smothered or consumed by her. I don’t care which.  </p><p>I reach down and pull my shorts and underwear away. She watches, brows raised in surprise, but only for a second. Then she is sitting up. Then she is helping me pull them the rest of the way off. Then she is pulling hers off too. And then she is naked, kneeling before me, watching as I lie back. She hesitates.</p><p>“Come here,” I whisper.</p><p>I grab her by the hand and pull her toward me. I press my mouth against her neck as the full weight of her settles down over me. She lets out a deep moan that chimes straight from her ribcage into mine and that’s when it starts. </p><p>The rhythm. The grinding. The push of her hips. The meeting of mine.</p><p>The throbbing in my crotch builds and builds with every thrust. Our bodies become slick. Our mouths even more so. She kisses me and kisses me as she slides against me and I feel drunk. I could do this forever.</p><p>Without thinking, I reach down, slide my hand between us. I need to know how she feels. I’m dying to touch her. She pauses, adjusts her hips, waits, holding her breath.</p><p>I reach between her legs. My fingers slide over her smooth wet skin. She goes stiff for a moment, looking down into my eyes. I let my fingers run slowly back and forth, the sensation is so wonderful and nothing like I expected—so soft, so silky, so slick. Her eyes go wide and she moans.</p><p>“Is this okay?” I say.</p><p>She smiles and begins to rock slowly against my hand. “Yes,” she whispers.</p><p>I touch her for what feels like forever. We touch and kiss, and it’s as if my entire existence is only in my fingers and in my lips. I hear our hushed sounds, our wet kisses, our squeaky mattress, our muffled moans, but it’s like they are happening somewhere else, to someone else, in some other room. In this room there is only lips and fingers and skin and warmth and sweat. And it all feels so fucking good.</p><p>But then she breaks the kiss. “Ava, I think I need to—”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>She shifts to the side, straddles my thigh. She gently pushes my hand away, and presses her crotch down against my leg. She starts grinding against me, much harder than before. So hard that I’m glad she’s moved my hand. I wrap my arms around her as she buries her face into my shoulder and she thrusts deeply against me. Two. Three. Strong thrusts. A moment later she throws her head back—mouth open, eyes closed—and lets out a long, trembling moan. Her whole body shakes and then she is very quiet and very still. The echo of her voice still hangs in the air. She opens her eyes and looks down at me.</p><p>“Are you okay?” I say.</p><p>“Yes,” she pants. “I think so.”</p><p>“What just happened?”</p><p>“I think I just...<em>came</em>.” She barely whispers the last word, giggling between breaths.</p><p>I touch her face. Brush her hair aside. “That’s a good thing, right?”</p><p>“Yes.” She sits up so that she’s kneeling between my legs. “And I want you to feel it too.”</p><p>The moonlight catches the crown of her head, casting a silver halo on her almost black hair. She is so beautiful. My heart pounds with renewed energy. I’m speechless. All I can do is nod and stare.</p><p>She leans over. Kisses my low stomach. Kisses the hair of my pubic mound—I read that in an anatomy book once that the nuns didn’t know I had stashed away behind my bed.</p><p>She kisses my inner thigh. Takes a breath. Gazes at me, at my spread legs, at my exposed vulva—also a word I learned from said forbidden book.</p><p>I’m too aroused to even consider being embarrassed by this. The way she looks at me, kneeling with her hands on my thighs, like she is praying, like she is making a offering, I feel like a mysterious, sacred thing.</p><p>I spread my legs wider, brace my heels into the mattress to try to stop my thighs from trembling. She takes this as an invitation and a moment later her mouth is there.</p><p>Her hot, wet mouth.</p><p>Her kisses are vague at first. Like warm flower petals. But then she gets brave. Then she uses her tongue. She explores me. I feel explored. She probes me. I feel myself open in response. I did not know my body could do this, could want this, could invite this.</p><p>My hips move against her mouth, and the more I move the more brave she becomes. She presses her tongue deep inside me, and the sensation rolls through me in warm waves—pleasant, soothing, enchanting. Her chin and cheeks become slick. Her eyes are closed, but when she opens them, her eyelids heavy, I feel a burst of fresh arousal. My hips excite in response. Move faster, press harder against her mouth. She moans, and I feel the vibration against my skin.</p><p>I reach down, run my fingers through her hair. Push it to the side so I can see her face. She looks up at me, out of breath but determined. She changes strategies, uses her fingers. Runs them up and down along the length of my vulva, presses one gently inside me. Then she brings her mouth back down, flicks her tongue, and I don’t know what is different, but this tiny gesture sends a jolt up my spine and down my legs. I physically jerk.</p><p>“Did I hurt you?” she pants.</p><p>“No. But what the hell was that?”</p><p>“I think that was your clit,” she says. “Do you want me to stop?”</p><p>“No,” I say. “But maybe just…go slow.”</p><p>“I can do that.”</p><p>She leans forward. Flicks her tongue again, and this time I think I’m prepared for it, but I’m wrong. I jerk away. She looks up.</p><p>“No, don’t stop,” I say. “I like it, I just—”</p><p>Without breaking eye contact, she places her whole mouth over my clit, and then, instead of flicking, she sucks.</p><p>“Oh <em>fuck</em>…”</p><p>I don’t know exactly what she does after that, but it all feels good. It all feels right. I close my eyes, hide my face in the crook of my elbow and simply <em>feel.</em></p><p>The room disappears beyond her. The bed disappears beneath me. Swirls of light flicker behind my closed eyes, and I feel like I’m floating. I never imagined it would be like this.</p><p>But then she pulls suddenly away. “Ava? Are you okay?”</p><p>“Yes, why?” I peek out from beneath my arm.</p><p>She is glowing.</p><p>Wait. No. That’s not right.</p><p>I’m glowing. And I’m floating. This is not a metaphor. I’m actually floating. <em>Like, in the air!</em></p><p>“Ava, don’t panic,” Beatrice says.</p><p>But it’s too late. As soon as I understand what’s going on, that the halo’s energy has somehow been activated and that I am levitating above the bed, I fall.</p><p>Straight down. Through the bed. Onto the ground.</p><p>Everything is suddenly dark and I’m alone, looking up at the bottom of the bedframe. My back aches where I have slammed into the floor.</p><p>“Jesus!” I shout.</p><p>A moment later Beatrice is on her hands and knees on the floor, peering at me under the bed.</p><p>“Ava! Are you okay?” She reaches under. Grabs my hand.</p><p>“Yes,” I grunt. “That fucking sucked though.”</p><p>“Can you move?”</p><p>“Yeah, I think so.”</p><p>“Okay, hold on.”</p><p>She stands back up. I watch as she grunts and lifts the bed just high enough for me to roll out from underneath it, then she lets it fall back to the floor. She brings the quilt from the chair. Lays it over my shoulders and kneels beside me.</p><p>“Are you hurt?”</p><p>I look up at her and burst into a fit of giggles. Seeing me, she also erupts into laughter and falls down onto the floor next to me. We hug, laughing so hard I have tears in my eyes.</p><p>“Wait,” she says, trying to regain her composure. “But are you hurt?”</p><p>“No, I’m fine.”</p><p>She pushes the hair from my sweaty face. “Good.”</p><p>“I swear I had no idea that would happen. I mean, that’s never happened before.”</p><p>She examines the rest of me, running her hands along my arms and legs, just to make sure that I’m really okay.</p><p>“To be fair,” I continue, “I’ve never done that particular activity before so—”</p><p>She looks up, blushing. “Neither have I.”</p><p>“But you liked it, right?”</p><p>She nods. “Did you?”</p><p>“I levitated. And glowed. And phased through the mattress.”</p><p>She laughs softly at that, but her smile slowly relaxes into a more pensive expression.</p><p>“What is it?” I reach for her hand.</p><p>“It just seems like we have to be more careful. It isn’t wise to do anything that activates the halo right now.”</p><p>“Well,” I say as I scoot closer to her, “so far, only that last thing activated the halo, but everything else before it didn’t. So maybe we just avoid that one thing and still do the other stuff.”</p><p>“That’s unfortunate,” she says, “because I think that was my favorite part.”</p><p>“Me too.” I remember her mouth on me, her tongue, her flower petal kisses—and I’m suddenly aroused again. I pull her into a kiss, and to my surprise her mouth tastes different. I kiss her gently. Taste her lips carefully. She stays very still. “Am I tasting what I think I’m tasting?”</p><p>“Yes,” she whispers.</p><p>“Do you like it?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“You taste like prayer feels.”</p><p>“I’ve never prayed before.”</p><p>“Then I guess you will have to come up with your own metaphor.”</p><p>“That would mean I would have to taste you first.”</p><p>She snakes her hand around the back of my neck and is about to kiss me again, but something catches her eye over my shoulder. I turn to see the flickering glow of a portal appear out of the darkness.</p><p>We jump up from the floor and fall back to the chair in the corner. Beatrice steps between me and the portal. No weapons. No armor. No clothes. Her fists raised, as if she can really fend off a Tarask with her bare hands.</p><p>But it’s not a Tarask that steps through the portal. It’s Lilith. Her hair is bright white, her eyes are dark, and her black claws exposed. The portal flickers and collapses behind her and she scans the room, turning to see us in the dark. When she speaks her voice rattles the window panes.</p><p>“I thought I told you not to use the halo’s power.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Jesus, Lilith!” Ava cries. “You scared the shit out of us!”</p><p>I stagger backwards, let my hands fall. But only for a moment, because next I’m covering myself with both hands and hiding behind Ava, who at least has the quilt to cover herself.  </p><p>“You activated the halo,” Lilith says, seemingly more annoyed than angry.</p><p>“Not intentionally,” I say.</p><p>“Yeah, it was an accident,” Ava says as she reaches her foot across the floor. She manages to grab hold of my shirt with her toes. She kicks it back to me and I scramble to pull it over my head.</p><p>Lilith glances back and forth between us and then at the bed with the rustled sheets. Even in the dark I can see her jaw set.</p><p>“Jujitsu exercises,” I say suddenly. “I was showing Ava some holds.”</p><p>“Save your breath,” Lilith says as she picks up Ava’s shorts from the floor. “Get dressed.” She tosses the clothes at Ava. “Come out when you are presentable. We need to talk.”</p><p>Then she unlocks the door and leaves Ava and I alone, shivering in the dark room.</p><p>“Shit!” I whisper.</p><p>We both scramble into our clothes.</p><p>“She got here so fast,” Ava says. “Is she monitoring me?”</p><p>“The halo’s energy sends a signal to their realm. We’ve always known that.”</p><p>“Yeah, but she got here really fast. Like almost immediately.”</p><p>“It must have been a strong signal.”</p><p>Ava looks up. Even in the dark I know she is blushing. “Yeah, I guess it was.”</p><p>“Let’s just be thankful it’s Lilith and not a Tarask,” I say as I open the door.</p><p>“Beatrice, wait.” She grabs my hand. Spins me around. Leans up on her tip toes to place a kiss on my lips. Warmth rushes through me. I smile and she is out the door.</p><p>Lilith is waiting in the foyer, a dark figure standing before the stairs. She looks up the stairs, her expression blank. As we approach, she turns her attention toward us.</p><p>“Listen,” she says suddenly. “We are getting impatient. We need a plan.”</p><p>“We?” Ava says.</p><p>“The Tarasks?” I ask.</p><p>Lilith pauses, tilts her head, then speaks again, “I mean, <em>they</em> are getting impatient. You call them Tarasks, because that is the name Adriel’s people use, but it is not the name they call themselves.”</p><p>“Then what do they call themselves?” Ava says.</p><p>“You wouldn’t understand it.”</p><p>“Beatrice might,” Ava says. “She speaks like a million languages.”</p><p>“It’s not in any language you’d understand,” Lilith says, obviously annoyed. “Let’s call them Gatekeepers. For that is what they are.”</p><p>“Gatekeepers?” I say. “They protect their realm? From beings like Adriel?”</p><p>“That’s correct,” she says. “And they are losing patience that he is still here, hiding in our realm. And that the halo is still within his reach. He must be located and contained, immediately.”</p><p>“Are you saying he escaped?” I ask. “From the Vatican City?”</p><p>“Yes. He evaded us, yet again, with the assistance of the…” She struggles to find the word. “Wraiths.”</p><p>“See,” Ava says as she hugs herself. “I told you he’s still out there. And he’s looking for me.”</p><p>“Most likely,” Lilith says.</p><p>“Why?” Ava says. “I mean, I know he wants the halo, but what <em>is</em> the halo? I know it’s not a gift from God. I’ve seen that much in my visions.”</p><p>“You wouldn’t understand it.”</p><p>Ava rolls her eyes. “You have to give us something here.”</p><p>“It’s a key,” I say. “It unlocks the gateway to the other realm, just like Dr. Salvius’ portal. Just like whatever device is allowing you to come and go.”</p><p>They both look at me; Ava baffled, and Lilith mildly impressed.</p><p>“In a sense,” Lilith says.</p><p>“In a sense?”</p><p>“The halo is complex.” Lilith turns away, walks toward the window. “It is a key when it chooses to be—when being a key is what is demanded of it. But it is also the gate, and the ground the gate stands on. It is all things in one instance and nothing in another.”</p><p>Ava looks at me. “Did any of that make any sense to you?”</p><p>“Like light,” I say.</p><p>“Like light?” Ava says.</p><p>“The quantum duality—light is both a wave and a particle, depending on the observer.”</p><p>Lilith smirks. “A crude analogy, but sure.”</p><p>“So the halo’s properties change, depending on the observer?” I say.</p><p>“Not quite.” Lilith smirks. “The halo’s energy exists, just as light exists, regardless of an observer. All of the halo’s potential energy is there—an infinite amount of potential energy—in that unrealized state. It is only <em>channeled</em> by the bearer into this dimension—which is only one of the many dimensions of existence.”</p><p>“Channeled?”</p><p>Lilith takes a deep breath, as if all of this talking is exasperating for her. “If the halo bearer needs the halo to be a key, it will manifest as a key. If she needs it to be a door, it will manifest as a door. Or armor. Or a weapon. Or invincibility.  The halo can be anything it is needed to be or nothing at all.”</p><p>“If it can be anything, do anything, then why can’t I fly?” Ava says.</p><p>“Can’t you?” Lilith glances at me. “Have we not seen it with our own eyes?”</p><p>“It’s true,” I say, “back and Cat’s Cradle, and more recently—but levitation is not the same as flying.”</p><p>“Are you serious?” Ava says. “I can fly?”</p><p>“Try it,” Lilith says.</p><p>Ava’s enthusiasm gives way to confusion. “How?”</p><p>Lilith shrugs. “How do you do any of it?”</p><p>“I don’t,” Ava says. “I mean, I don’t usually control it. It just happens. It’s like the halo has a mind of its own.”</p><p>“No,” Lilith says, “the halo is not sentient. It is only a tool—an incredibly sophisticated tool—and like any tool, it is worthless without an operator. So far, the halo has been under your subconscious control. It needs to be under conscious control. But you’d know that if you ever took your training seriously.”</p><p>“Hey! Give me a minute to get adjusted to my new reality. I was dead not too long ago…and so were you.”</p><p>“I was never dead,” Lilith says. “And neither were you. Not completely anyway.”</p><p>“What?” Ava and I say it at the same time.</p><p>“Your understanding of death is so limited.” Lilith says. “Your consciousness, however weak it was at that time, must not have completely disintegrated yet. You needed the halo to reanimate your body, and so that’s what the halo did. And you aren’t the first.”</p><p>“Holy shit,” Ava whispers as she sits on the bottom step of the staircase, hugging herself. “I guess I really didn’t want to die.”</p><p>“Of course you didn’t,” I say as I join her at the stairs. I stroke the top of her head and she looks up with relief in her eyes.</p><p>Lilith continues. “Adriel used the halo to reanimate Areala in the same way. But what he didn’t predict, is that when he buried the halo in Areala’s flesh, her own consciousness took over. After that, he could no longer control the halo, nor could he cause harm to the one who did. The best he could do was manipulate her more indirectly, with fear and lies. He called the Tarasks demons. Taught Areala how to defeat them, dismantle them, use their bodies as weapons.”</p><p>“Divinium,” I say. “It has metallic properties, but it is also organic. Made from the bones of the Gatekeepers, but also the stuff of armor, weapons, devices. What is it, exactly?”</p><p>Lilith sighs. “There is so much to explain, and you have so few words, such limited understanding. Our technology is too complex. Our realm has had so many more millions of years to develop—not much time on the scale of galaxies—but an insurmountable chasm of time between our civilizations. The Gatekeepers are a very old race of beings. We are the oldest that we know of, though we have searched countless other realms—”</p><p>“Why do you keep saying <em>we</em>?” I interrupt. “You’re not one of them. You’re one of us.”</p><p>“I am no longer Lilith, not in the way you understand. Now may I continue?”</p><p>I’m not satisfied with this answer but the blank expression on her face tells me that she is not interested in explaining further. I nod my acceptance.</p><p>“The halo is the pinnacle of our technological achievements,” she continues. “With it we were able to conquer space, time, mortality, disease, suffering, and so many other things that humans have not even started to consider. We endeavored to share this technology with the races of other realms, in order to assist them in their own evolution, in order to save them from some of the violence we experienced when we were less evolved. We set out on a pilgrimage of peace, delivering one halo to a trusted advisor in each realm and teaching them how to wield the halo’s power for the betterment of their civilization.”</p><p>“Let me guess,” Ava says, “Adriel was one of these trusted advisors?”</p><p>“He was. But we overestimated the wisdom of these advisors. Soon the technology was used for greedy, selfish, and violent ends. And worse, it was used to locate, exploit and destroy other races in other realms. There was now more violence in the multiverse than in any other time in existence. The great experiment was a great failure. We set out again, this time with the mission of locating each and every halo, and destroying it. The halo here on Earth is the last of its kind. And we must make sure Adriel never gets control of it ever again.”</p><p>“Why?” Ava says. “What happens if he does?”</p><p>“Ask the halo,” Lilith says. “It recorded everything. It can show you.”</p><p>Ava suddenly cries out. She falls forward onto her knees. Covers her eyes, as if they burn her. I reach for her. Embrace her. Look into her eyes. She is pale and terrified.</p><p>“Ava!” I say. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”</p><p>“No, Beatrice!” she cries. “There are so many of them. All dead! So many of them. Dead.”</p><p>“So many what? People?”</p><p>“No,” she says. “Worlds. Suns. Galaxies. All dead. All gone.”</p><p>“Adriel did this?”</p><p>“Yes.” She nods, but her face falls slack. She starts shivering.</p><p>“Lilith, she’s in shock,” I say. “You have to help her.”</p><p>Lilith walks to Ava. “I suppose it was a bit too much for her small mind.” She reaches down. Lays her hand on Ava’s forehead. She opens her mouth and an earth-shattering cry pours out, stirring the air around us. A moment later, the room is quiet and still.</p><p>Ava opens her eyes, and I can tell she is herself again.</p><p>Upstairs, Camila throws open her bedroom door and stumbles own the stairs, crossbow drawn. “What is going on?” She sees us first, then sees our guest, who has stepped away. “Sister Lilith?”</p><p>She runs toward her, but stops short. Lilith does not budge, but simply regards Camila and says plainly, “Sister Camila.”</p><p>“Are you okay?” Camila says, crossbow still raised. “Are there any Tarasks here?”</p><p>“I am alone,” Lilith says.</p><p>“What are you doing here?”</p><p>“I was alerted by the halo’s energy.”</p><p>“The halo’s energy?” Camila lets the crossbow fall. She spins to look at Ava and I, still sitting on the stairs. “But we haven’t used the halo.”</p><p>“There was an unexpected outburst,” I say.</p><p>“When?”</p><p>“Just now,” I say. “Or, not that long ago.”</p><p>“Just now? In the middle of the night? What were you doing?”</p><p>“I had a nightmare,” Ava says. “That’s all. I had a nightmare and I was scared, and Beatrice was comforting me, and then I…levitated.”</p><p>“Oh,” Camila says, but I can tell by her furrowed brows that she is still confused. She looks back and forth between Ava and me, then turns to Lilith.</p><p>Lilith says nothing. Her expression is cold. Blank. Unnerving—even for her. But she says nothing to contradict the lie Ava just told.</p><p>“Look,” I say, “it’s so late, and we are all still so exhausted. Can’t this conversation wait until morning?”</p><p>Lilith is silent, our eyes locked.</p><p>“You’ve waited this long,” I say. “You can wait a few more hours.”</p><p>She sighs. “If you must sleep, then you must sleep. I will wait for you here.”</p><p>“Don’t you want to rest?” Camila says.</p><p>“I no longer require rest, not in the way you describe.”</p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>I place a hand on Camila’s shoulder. “She will explain everything in the morning.” I look at Lilith. “Won’t you?”</p><p>Lilith nods, ever so slightly. “I will.”</p><p>“I’d rather hear it now. I doubt I can go back to sleep anyway.”</p><p>“Alright,” I say as I stand. I reach for Ava’s hand. “But we are going back to bed.”</p><p>Ava stands and leans into me, still a bit disoriented. I pull her into a modest embrace, still self-conscious of the others’ gazes, then I lead her down the hallway.</p><p>“Where are you going?” Camila says.</p><p>“We moved,” I say. “A few hours ago.”</p><p>“I was snoring again, wasn’t I?”</p><p>“Enough to wake the dead,” Ava chimes in. “And I should know.”</p><p>“It wasn’t that bad,” I say. “But you should probably keep your own room. We’ll stay at the end of the hall.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” she says.</p><p>“Positive.”</p><p>We leave them in the foyer and walk slowly back to our room. Once inside I pull Ava into the hug I could not give her in front of the others. She buries her face in my neck and squeezes me around the ribs. But then she looks up at me, her eyes betraying her confusion.</p><p>“It was terrible,” she says. “All those people. All those worlds. I had no idea. It was overwhelming. But then Lilith did something to me, and now I can’t even cry for them.”</p><p>“Perhaps it’s best,” I say. “Perhaps you just need some rest.”</p><p>She nods through her weariness.</p><p>We lay back down in the bed and she comes close, resting her head on my shoulder and wrapping her arm around my waist. I allow myself to press my mouth to the top her head and inhale.</p><p>As we lay there, so many competing images come to mind; the first I ever saw Ava at Arqtech, her lips red and her hair pulled up, her skin flushed with fear; the way she fell into my arms, not once but twice; the moment Adriel had her by the throat and I thought she was gone for good; the day she came back to Cat’s Cradle and levitated on the table, blowing Lilith and I back against the wall; and tonight when she levitated against my lips; the moment she kissed me; the light in her eyes only hours before when she teased me about the baker.</p><p>
  <em>She was flirting with me. How did I miss the sign? </em>
</p><p>No, I didn’t miss it. From the first time I saw her, I knew she was different—special. I am meant to love her. That I have always known. But I thought it would be a platonic love, a spiritual love, a fraternal love—the love of a warrior for their commander.</p><p>I had never let myself hope for this. And now here she is, laying in my arms, her limbs twitching gently as she falls asleep against me, and the hope has already bloomed and flowered, where I didn’t even know there was a seed—the hope that she could love me too.</p><p>As I drift to sleep, I am so content that I don’t even have enough room in my mind or heart to feel shameful about it.</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
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    <p>Beatrice falls asleep before I do. Sure, I drift in and out as I rest my head on her chest, but soon she is breathing heavily and I am still awake. The sound of her heart is comforting, but a part of me refuses to sleep.</p><p>I’m scared I’ll dream.</p><p>I’d rather stay here, safe in Beatrice’s arms than risk meeting Adriel again. Especially now. I guess it was so easy to hide my love for her from him, because I had hidden it from myself. But it is all out in the open now.</p><p>I lift my head slowly so I can get a better look at her face. Her mouth hangs open slightly, and her chin is tilted away from me. Her breath is slow and heavy, but her eyes dart back and forth beneath her eyelids.</p><p>She is dreaming.</p><p>I wonder what she dreams about. I close my eyes and wish above all things that her dreams are pleasant and that I’m there with her. I’d give anything to be in her dreams instead of my own. I’m tempted to wake her, to ask her to kiss me again, to help me forget about my own dreams. I know she would.</p><p>But she is so beautiful and calm and still, that I can’t bring myself to do it.</p><p>Instead I touch my own lips. I remember how it felt to kiss her. A fresh wave of excitement burns through me. I stare at her lips. God, I want to kiss her again and again. I want to do a lot more than that.</p><p>She said I taste like prayer feels.</p><p>I want to pray.</p><p>Her brow furrows and a moan of discontent slips from her lips. She whips her head back and forth.</p><p>“Beatrice?” I say as I touch her shoulder.</p><p>She doesn’t open her eyes.</p><p>“Beatrice, you’re having a bad dream,” I say, but it’s like she can’t hear me.</p><p>Just then, out in the hallway, the floorboards creak beneath the weight of <em>something</em>.</p><p>I crawl from the bed. I open the door. The hall is dark. There’s no light coming from any of the other rooms. I listen for Lilith or Camila, but I hear nothing.</p><p>I walk down the hall, expecting to find Lilith standing guard in the living room. Instead I find a robed figure by the window, staring out at the Alps, silhouetted by moonlight.</p><p>The robes are gray, not black; the hair brown, not white. My heart jumps into my throat.</p><p>Even before he turns, I know who it is.</p><p>His smile is smug and sinister. His eyes glowing with delight.</p><p>“What a beautiful mountain view,” he says. “And to think, all this time I’ve been searching for you by the sea.”</p><p>“Lilith!” I shout. “Lilith, he’s here!”</p><p>“Save your breath,” he says. “She can’t hear you. No one can hear you. It’s just you and me…and the one you care for most.”</p><p>
  <em>Beatrice.</em>
</p><p>“No!” I scream. There is a burst of reddish gold light. We both fly back—me through the living room wall and him through the window.</p><p>I awake to the sound of breaking glass.</p><p>I can’t breathe. It’s like the wind has been knocked out of me.</p><p>Beatrice’s hands are on my back, on my neck, pushing the hair from my face. I’m sitting upright in the tiny bed, in the tiny room, in the light of dawn.</p><p>“Was it him again?” she asks.</p><p>“He knows where we are. He knows about us. He saw the mountains and your family photo. He’s coming for us.”</p><p>“Well, that’s a relief,” she says.</p><p>“A relief? How can you say that?”</p><p>“Because if he’s coming for us, then he will leave Diego alone.”</p><p>My heart sinks. “Right.”</p><p>She sits up, shifts to the edge of the bed. Then she just…<em>sits</em> there. Not speaking. Not moving.</p><p>“We have to leave immediately,” I say.</p><p>“We can’t keep running forever. Not when he has access to your mind.”</p><p>“Fine. Then you run. Take the others. I will face him alone.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“No?” I push the covers aside and crawl across the bed toward her. “There’s no way I’m going to let him hurt you.”</p><p>“Do you know why I chose jujitsu?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Jujitsu? Do you know why I chose to study it?”</p><p>“Because you’re an overachieving perfectionist who likes to keep her figure?”</p><p>“When I was having trouble in school, I often wanted to run away.” She turns to me. “I’m sure you can relate...your instinct for flight being what it is.”</p><p>I swallow hard. “Fair enough.”</p><p>“But then, at some point, it occurred to me that fight would be a better option than flight, so I learned to fight. But the more I learned about fighting, the more I understood that fighting doesn’t mean what most people think it means.”</p><p>“You know, ordinarily I love when you get all Karate Kid like this, but I’m feeling a sense of urgency at the moment. What exactly are you trying to say?”</p><p>“To be good at jujitsu, as with most martial arts, you have to be able to understand the force that is coming at you and redirect it in order to change your situation. Strength alone will get you nowhere.”</p><p>“Except the force that’s coming at us right now is a psychopathic megalomaniac who has destroyed entire planetary systems and felt zero remorse about it.”</p><p>“Exactly. The bigger the force and the more arrogant the enemy, the easier they are to redirect. It takes almost no effort at all.”</p><p>“So what do you suggest?”</p><p>She turns, mouth set and serious, eyes bright with determination. “We need to contact Dr. Salvius.”</p>
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